Broken Throne

by Victoria Aveyard

  My lip curls. “He can speak without me holding his hand.”

  “I know that. But I mean, when he abdicates, the Kingdom of the Rift passes to you.”

  Even a Silver child knows that. It’s painfully obvious. Everyone knows the laws of succession in my old country, or at least what they were. Men first, and when none are left, the crown passes to a daughter. A person born to be a pawn becomes the ruler of the board.

  I would be a liar if I said I had not thought about it. In the dark, in the quiet moments, in the space between lying awake and falling asleep. No one could stop a ruling queen from living how she wished, with whoever she liked.

  A queen of a Silver kingdom, and all that entails. The thought pricks at me, drawing a blossom of shame. Once, the sensation was unfamiliar. Now I feel it most days. It’s difficult not to, in a country like this, compared to the country I came from, the country I would have maintained.

  “That’s what the letter is for,” I mutter. Just a few sentences, enough to cut me out of the life I was meant to live.

  “That’s hardly the same. It won’t carry the weight your voice will.” This isn’t the first time I’ve heard this argument. From Carmadon or from Premier Davidson. Even Ptolemus hinted that my presence would be helpful. And Elane did as well. She has a mind for these kinds of things. “It must be difficult, to give up—”

  I cut him off, tired of this conversation. “I don’t want that place,” I almost shout, my voice too forceful, too loud. “I don’t want any of it anymore.”

  Not weighed against what I have now. It’s not worth the trade. But still—I was raised to that place. To Ridge House, to the scarring valleys of the Rift. Shadow and tree and river. Quarries of iron, coal mines. A beautiful home I will never forget. And no matter how much I love Elane, how much I value being who I am, it’s a difficult life to forget.

  “I’m not going back.”

  “Fine,” he replies, teeth clenched. “Then you can tell Ptolemus that in person. You can stand and watch him leave. Have some spine, Evangeline,” he adds, looking me up and down with a withering glance. In spite of myself and my pride, I feel exposed beneath his judgment. Carmadon is like me, and deep down, I value his opinion. “You can live your own life here, so live it proudly.”

  Rage quickly replaces any embarrassment in me. It licks up like flame, feeding my dogged resolve. I almost sit back down again, petulant as a child.

  But he’s right.

  “Thank you for your advice, my lord Carmadon,” I hiss, dropping into a curtsy even lower than his bow. When I rise, my fingers dance, sending a ring sailing through the trees. It returns in a blink, bringing a small, red apple directly to my palm.

  Carmadon doesn’t move. “That isn’t ripe,” he says, his voice tinged with amusement.

  I take the largest bite I can as I walk away, ignoring the bitter taste.

  TWO

  Elane

  Was it wrong to send Carmadon after her?

  I can’t say. Evangeline wanted this time to herself, to wait out the clock on Ptolemus and Wren, but she’ll regret it later. If she can’t find the stomach to go with them, she’ll wish she was there to see him off at least. There are few people she values more than her brother, and I know firsthand what an effect we have on her emotions. Evangeline thinks I don’t notice how easily swayed she is by the rest of us. The smallest word, a wrong-sided glance. It unsettles her, any risk to our bonds and relationships. Even the slightest possibility of unraveling our circle. After all, we’re the only thing she has left.

  And she is the same to me.

  I do what I can in the time I have. Packing up her clothes without magnetron help can be an arduous affair, but I do my best. In Norta and the Rift, we both favored our house colors, which made for a very monotone color palette in our closets. Black, silver. Some white. Montfort is different. House colors have no meaning, and I sort through a rainbow of shades to choose outfits suitable for an abdication. Most of Evangeline’s gowns are too heavy for me to move without aid, so I stick to silk when I can. The chrome chain mail is less cumbersome, but still a chore to drag off its hook.

  After an hour I’m sweating slightly, but I have two cases stuffed with any specific items we might need. Dresses, shirts, pants, jackets. Not to mention my own clothing. Just in case Evangeline changes her mind.

  I leave the cases in the closet, shutting the door behind me to hide them from sight.

  Our suite of rooms here is less grand than at Ridge House, naturally, but it is still splendid enough as our status demands. For the time being.

  Though we slept in the same place back in the Rift, I always had my own chambers somewhere else, to keep up appearances. It’s both strange and exhilarating to know the space is ours to share, and no one else’s. Davidson’s estate has a very specific flair, and my own tastes don’t match with exposed wood or forest green. I haven’t bothered decorating, though. We will not be here much longer.

  The windows face west, at Evangeline’s request. She prefers waking with the dawn, but she knows I don’t. It was a kind gesture, though it does require some finesse in the afternoon, when the sun seems to be directly at eye level. As usual, I spin my hand as if turning a doorknob, and the light beaming in dims to a golden glow. Much better.

  I have little true cause to use the full extent of my shadow ability here. Montfort has no royal court to speak of. There is no queen to eavesdrop on, no young prince to follow unseen. Still, that doesn’t mean I don’t do my fair share of listening where I can. Mostly on the street, exploring the city of Ascendant without worry. After all, I’m a Nortan noble, a Silver born to rule, and once I was the future queen of the Rift. Though I am safe here, I am not often welcome outside the estate. Reds and newbloods who recognize me look on me with scorn, Silvers with pity or jealousy. Sometimes I go out with Evangeline, shielding us both behind a veil of my ability, though it makes navigating the crowds more difficult. Not that Evangeline has ever minded stepping on toes.

  Premier Davidson’s meetings are too well guarded, even for me. He retains his council behind locked doors with newblood guards on his heels. One can detect abilities; the other has elevated senses that allow her to smell or hear even an invisible intrusion. The latter reminds me of Evangeline’s mother, a woman never caught off guard. She always had too many eyes to see through, too many noses, too many beasts at her command.

  If everything carries on as it should, I might be spending a lot more time with the newblood guards, and Davidson especially.

  It’s been at least two hours since Evangeline disappeared. She ate breakfast in unusual silence, devouring whatever the servant put in front of her. I didn’t push. It’s a difficult day for all of us, most of all her. When she told me she wanted to be alone for a while, I was ready to give her the space she so desperately wanted.

  She gave me a copy of the letter she wrote, the one Ptolemus is supposed to read during his broadcast tomorrow. She isn’t the type to want input or even support, but there are no secrets between us these days. She wanted to give me the choice.

  I haven’t read it.

  It sits on the coffee table in our salon, taunting me even from the next room. I’m not a fool. I’ve lived in Silver courts as long as Evangeline has, and I’ve probably overheard more than she will in her lifetime. It’s a shadow’s way to watch and listen. Sending a letter, instead of going to the Rift herself—it’s risking disaster. And no matter how many times I tell her this, Evangeline refuses to listen. She’s always been stubborn, always quick to dig her heels in. I thought this place might cure her of that. She could be different here. But very little about her has changed. She’s still proud, still venomous, still terrified of losing the few people she holds dear.

  I avoid the salon and the letter’s temptation, busying myself with the already-made bed instead. We don’t have personal servants, but there are maids who clean our rooms daily, ready to provide anything we might ask for.

  Not for much longer.
>
  I huff out a breath, blowing a lock of hair out of my face. I don’t have the faintest idea how to clean most of my clothing properly. Especially not the lacy pieces Evangeline likes best. I made sure to tuck a few of those in the cases. She deserves a reward if she changes her mind.

  On the abdication, and other things as well.

  Sighing, I lie back against the cool coverlet of our bed. The blankets are dark green, the same color as the Montfort flag, and I imagine I’m sprawled against a forest floor. My scarlet hair looks striking against the fabric, bright as a wound. I debate ringing for the maid and asking her to draw me a hot bath, when someone enters the salon from the hall. There’s only one person who wouldn’t bother to knock, and I steel myself for the inevitable disagreement over today.

  Evangeline moves with grace. Not like a cat, but a wolf, always on the hunt. Usually I like when she’s hunting me, but I’m not her prey right now. She doesn’t meet my gaze when she enters the room, even though I’m silhouetted quite nicely against the windows. The light shifts over me, dappling my pale skin and red dress in a pretty haze. I like wearing red. It matches my hair. It makes me feel alive. Evangeline wears her house colors today even though she doesn’t need to anymore. Black leather, gray wool. She seems dull in comparison to her usual self.

  She drops something on the floor, and I catch sight of a half-eaten apple as it rolls under a chair. The former princess doesn’t seem to notice or care. I wrinkle my nose.

  “You better clean that up, Eve,” I say, speaking before she can scold me for sending Carmadon after her. Throw the wolf off the scent.

  She barely shrugs, letting the softened light catch in her silver hair. It dances and refracts. For an instant she wears a crown only I can see. “I think I’ll enjoy our last few hours of maid service.”

  So dramatic, I think, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. “I doubt they’ll cut us off so quickly.”

  “You know Davidson so well, do you?” She angles a knifelike smirk in my direction. I feel the sting of a familiar accusation and brush it off with a wave.

  “I’m not having this argument again. We have more important matters to discuss.”

  She paces to the foot of the bed, stopping to lean forward on her hands. Her gaze meets mine, storm-cloud eyes against my sky blue. I see desperation in her, and anger. “Your future profession is important to me.”

  “It can wait,” I tell her, and not for the first time. Whatever role I decide to play in Montfort—that choice is mine. “You should be there,” I murmur softly, sitting up so I can touch her.

  But she moves quickly, her cheek evading my fingers. With a huff, she flops down against the blankets, arms crossed over herself. Her hair splays, close enough to mingle with mine. Red and silver, the two colors that rule this world.

  “Why send Carmadon to tell me that if you’re just going to parrot the same argument? Seems a bit circular, my dear.”

  “Very well,” I mutter. As usual, my blood heats with her lying so close. “Should I try another tactic?”

  Evangeline glances at me, pressing her cheek against the bed. I move slowly, deliberately, swinging one leg over her waist until I’m firmly settled above her.

  Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “Please do,” she whispers, one hand finding my hip. The other remains still.

  I lean down, speaking so my breath ghosts along her neck. She shivers beneath me. “There are already two factions within the Silvers of the Rift. One favors reorganization.” I press a kiss to the vein in her neck. “Joining the Nortan States. Living beneath the laws of that new government. Blood equality, a restructured society. They would prefer losing their status to shedding any more blood in another war.”

  Her throat jumps as she swallows hard, keeping her focus. But the hand on my hip strays, trailing up my ribs. Over my dress, I feel her touch keenly, like she’s dragging her nails across bare flesh.

  “Smart,” she says. Evangeline is far from stupid. She’ll let me play my game, but she’ll play her own as well. One of her fingers hooks into the ties at the back of my dress, toying with them. If she wanted, she could cut me out of my gown without blinking. “We Silvers always know how to save our own skins.”

  I lean down again, putting a hand to her throat. At the edge of my vision, the light around us spots. Dark and light, bleeding between each. It pulses with my heartbeat. “And the other—”

  Her voice is sharp. “I don’t care.”

  I press on, undeterred. “The other is backed by your remaining cousins,” I say, pulling the collar of her sweater to the side, exposing the pale skin beneath.

  She pretends to laugh. A hollow attempt. “I didn’t know they were still around.”

  A lie, Evangeline. My Samos princess knows every piece of her family still breathing.

  “Even the low members of your house have a vested interest in keeping a Samos on the throne.”

  Her grip tightens on me, both hands at my waist now. Holding me in place. Keeping me still. “There won’t be a throne—”

  “Your brother is doing what he must to make that clear,” I snap, sitting up to put some distance between us.

  She only glares, retreating into bitter silence.

  Once, I might have left her to this. Let her drive me away only to call me back when she was ready. But that isn’t fair. And I won’t live that way anymore. I don’t have to. “Eve—”

  “It doesn’t matter who supports me.” She shuts her eyes, speaking through clenched teeth. “I’m never going back. I’m not staking a claim. I’ll never be a queen or a princess or whatever they want.”

  “That’s not the point.” I cover her hands with my own. Her fingers are cold. “Your cousins will be supporting a queen in exile. They could say you’re imprisoned, enslaved—anything to justify maintaining their laws and their superiority. There will be a regent, whoever the highest-ranking Samos is left. Speaking in your name, ruling in your name. All while you hide here—”

  Her eyes flash open, bright with anger. She shifts beneath me, sitting up so I have to clamber away.

  “Are we hiding, Elane?” Angry, Evangeline gets off the bed and begins to pace. She combs a hand through her hair, tangling and smoothing the silver locks in succession. “Or are you hiding? It is what you’re good at, isn’t it?”

  Everything in me tightens. I am not quick to anger, not like Evangeline. I’ve never had a temper like hers. But I am not a stranger to rage. Slowly, I slip a bracelet from my wrist, grateful I’m wearing no other metal for her to sense as I let it drop to the floor.

  And I disappear.

  “Elane,” she sighs, not in apology, but exasperation. As if I am some burden or embarrassment.

  It only incenses me further.

  I am well practiced in the art of silence. Every shadow is. She keeps her eyes on the bed long after I’ve left it, unable to see me as I cross the room.

  “Apologize,” I hiss in her ear. Evangeline jumps as if electrocuted, whirling to face my voice.

  I release my grip on the light, unwinding the manipulation keeping me invisible. But I don’t let go entirely. Shadows gather along my edges, open wounds for her to see. After all, Evangeline is always twisting her iron and steel with every passing emotion. She might as well see how much she affects me too.

  Her focus lingers on the shadows, tracing them. For a second she reaches out to touch one, but thinks better of it. “I’m sorry,” she says, deflating before my eyes. I hear regret in her voice, enough to take the edge off. “That wasn’t fair of me.”

  “No it was not,” I reply. My shadows ripple in response, ebbing and flowing in a tide. It’s my turn to hunt, and I circle Evangeline. “If anyone is hiding, it is you, Evangeline Samos. You never leave the estate. You barely speak to anyone outside our circle. You won’t even say good-bye to Ptolemus, let alone go with him. Or tell anyone—anyone from before—what you are.”

  What we are. But even now, I’ll never admit it, not to her, not out loud. She’s s
acrificed a life for me—and still, somehow, I want more. I need more. Her love, her dedication. A promise given in sunlight instead of shadow. It feels wrong and selfish. But I can’t deny it either.

  She must read disappointment all over my face, and venom overtakes her. “Oh, and you’ve sent letters all over, haven’t you? Given a broadcast detailing every piece of your romantic inclinations?” I half expect her to shred something, a doorknob or one of her gowns, maybe. Instead she stands still, moving only to point a shaking finger. “If I’m hiding, so are you.”

  “My father knows. My house knows. Every person in this building knows who I spend my nights with and why.” I hear my voice tremble, but I have no issue holding my ground. I’ve faced far worse in the courts of Norta and the Rift. “I am doing what I can to build a life here for us.”

  Evangeline just sneers, and I see the disdain in her. Not for me, but for herself. It hurts more than anything she can say. “You think blending in isn’t hiding, Elane? Invisible or simply in shadow—either way you avoid being seen.”

  Suddenly the dark edges around me flare, blinding for a moment.

  “What is so very wrong with wanting to belong here?” I thunder, waving my hands at the timber-and-stone walls. “Evangeline, I know how difficult it is to unlearn the lessons we were taught. By my colors, I know.” The old motto of our country spills out on instinct. It already feels like a relic. “I would be lying if I said I didn’t dream of going back. Ruling a kingdom next to you. But that world, as we are, is impossible. This place might be harder. This might feel against nature. Reds and Silvers, the newbloods—I’m still getting used to it. But they let us live as we want. It’s worth the trade.”

  Only when I’m finished do I realize I’m holding her hands, and specks of light circle around our joined fingers. Evangeline is still, her face carved from stone.

  “I believe that’s why I brought us here in the first place,” she says softly. “I wanted our freedom. And I wanted you safe.”