Dear Iris,
I will not bore you with the overdone greeting as befitting your rank. I’m a commoner now, and I’m allowed to take such liberties. I’m writing to you not as a friend or an enemy. Not even as one former princess to another. Though I hope my expertise on this subject, as well as my experience with the loss of kingdoms, can be of use to you if you haven’t burned this letter already. Or would you drown it? Who’s to say, really.
Our paths crossed before, and I promise you, as they stand now, our paths will cross again. If your mother keeps up her campaign, if she holds to this war still ripping between your country and my own, I swear to you, we will meet again. Either on the battlefield or across the negotiating table. If you survive long enough to see it. Norta fell to the Scarlet Guard, to Montfort, to the Red tide now sweeping across your own borders. Even you will not be able to weather it, no matter how strong you are. The Nortan States might seem ripe for the taking, but you will find no greater opposition than Tiberias Calore, the Scarlet Guard, and the delegation government now in place.
The pieces on this board we share are already in place, and it isn’t difficult to guess the game. Piedmont has been your proxy with the raiders of Prairie, to keep Montfort preoccupied with their own borders and give the Lakelands time to regroup. After all, you were sorely beaten at Archeon, and I imagine your own nobles have been at your mother’s throat over the entire affair. You’ve found opposition in the Rift, not because the Silver nobles are against you, but because they feared and respected my father. He ended up dead on your ship, did he not? What a terrible misunderstanding. Rumors really can get away from us, can’t they? And your own country, the pious, proud, bountiful Lakelands—you are steadily moving into winter. Your harvest is soon. And I suspect there are a great deal of Red workers missing, aren’t there? Who can blame them, when they can simply cross the border to seek a better life for their children?
You are a nymph, Iris. You can read the tides; you can change currents. But this current, this swift course, cannot be changed. Well I know metal, Princess. And I know that any steel that does not bend is fated to break.
If you value your throne, your crown, and your lives, you will consider what can be done to protect all three. Blood equality, new laws, as fast as you can write them, are the only way you survive this—and survive it with some power still in your grasp.
Evangeline Samos of Montfort
While Ptolemus stares, wide-eyed, at his sister’s bold strategy, the world goes hazy around me. A buzzing sounds in my ears, drowning him out as he rereads select pieces of her advice to the Lakelander princess. Evangeline Samos of Montfort. I knew she wouldn’t have the titles any longer, but to hear it, to see that name written so plainly. Of Montfort. She truly has let go of what she was, and—she’s embracing what we can be.
Tears prick my eyes, and her hand tightens in my own.
Evangeline Samos of Montfort.
Elane Haven of Montfort.
“And the abdication letter?” I say thickly, trying to keep the tears at bay.
Her jaw tightens, but she dips her head in acknowledgment. “I’ll read it myself.”
All the tension of the last few days unwinds, and a pressing weight lifts from my shoulders. I almost sigh in relief. Instead I jump to my feet, my robe swirling around me as I head for the closet.
“I guess it’s a good thing I’ve already packed.”
It’s sunset, red and cold, by the time we reach the airfield cut into the slopes of Ascendant. The pines seem to lean in, watching as the four of us clamber out of our transport and onto the tarmac. We are very much behind schedule, but no one seems to mind. Not Ptolemus, not our Montfort pilots and escort, not even Carmadon and Premier Davidson, who have come to see us off. They stand out sharply from their crowd of retainers—Carmadon in his white suit, and the premier with his familiar, inscrutable smile. Neither looks surprised by Evangeline’s presence, as if they knew she would change her mind.
Though Ptolemus will be the first to abdicate and is still the heir to the Rift, he walks behind Evangeline, letting her set our pace. She walks quickly, eager to be done with this already. Though she certainly looks the part of a princess. Her battered training suit has been discarded for black leather leggings, a matching jacket, and a silver cape that ripples like liquid mercury. It could be, for all I know. The rest of us are equally dressed. Ptolemus is in a uniform, with a cape to match Evangeline’s, while Wren wears a gown patterned in red and silver, the colors of House Skonos. I don’t favor my house colors tonight. Instead of black, my dress is pale blue and gold, like clouds at dawn. It sets off my eyes.
Evangeline likes it, and she isn’t trying to hide the sentiment. She glances back at me as we walk, running her eyes over my outfit with eager satisfaction.
Our escort of Montfort guards and diplomats wastes no time boarding the waiting jet, barely acknowledging the premier before disappearing up the steps. Evangeline tries to do the same, sidestepping Carmadon’s outstretched hand, but the premier is a difficult man to ignore. He doesn’t block her path and gives her the chance to avoid him.
She is wise enough not to.
Good, I think, watching as she clasps his arm. She begrudges the action but allows it just the same. The premier is the best ally we have here, and she needs to be civil. Even with his offer of employment hanging over my head.
They mutter to each other, dropping their voices so as not to be heard. I hope she tells him about her message to Iris. Not to get his permission, but to show her intentions. I have no doubt the letter will be intercepted and read, and I’d rather the premier know what Eve is up to beforehand.
Ptolemus and Wren are brief with Carmadon. He’s too talkative for their taste, but I quite enjoy his company. I grin when he takes my hands, surveying my brightly colored clothing with a genuine smile.
“You look like a winter sunrise, Lady Haven,” he says, kissing me on one cheek.
“Well, one of us had to bring a little color,” I reply, glancing at his white suit.
He wags a dark-skinned finger at me in jest. “You must be certain to visit us, after all this is done and you’re settled in the city.”
“Of course. At the premier’s pleasure,” I add, sweeping into the curtsy I’ve performed since I could walk.
“Aren’t we all,” he mutters under his breath. He even winks, up to his old tricks. But there’s something beneath his usual jest. A deeper acknowledgment.
I wonder if he feels the same kinship I do. I’m a child compared to him—Carmadon is easily three decades older than me—but we were both born to different worlds from the one we live in now. And we both love people the old world told us we couldn’t. Great people, who cast long shadows. We’re both content, if not happy, to stand in their darkness.
That’s what Evangeline is. Greatness. Strong, proud—ruthless, even. And undeniably great. Not just on the battlefield, where she is formidable, to say the least. The letter is proof of that. Even in her weakest moments, I see it. The ability to push forward and through where most would admit defeat. Not for the first time today, I find myself staring at her, still locked in whispered conversation with the premier. Carmadon follows my gaze, but his eyes flicker to his husband quickly. We watch them both, staring down a winding path with no end in sight.
Where will these people lead us?
It doesn’t matter.
I’ll always go.
The premier merely takes my hand when I pass him. We exchange nods of greeting, but little more.
“We’ll talk soon,” he says quietly, and his meaning is clear.
The offer of work.
Evangeline doesn’t miss it, though she’s already climbing the stairs into the jet. She freezes momentarily, her back stiffening. Her metallic cape ripples like the surface of a disturbed pond.
“Soon,” I echo to the premier, if only to be polite.
Truthfully, I wish I could shove him for being so blatant.
The last thing I need is any m
ore tension with Evangeline. This is going to be difficult enough.
FIVE
Evangeline
I should sleep.
The flight to the Rift is several hours long, over the flat, empty fields of Prairie and then the winding borders of the Disputed Lands. It’s too dark to see anything out the jet window, and even the stars seem distant and dull. I won’t be able to tell when we cross into my father’s former kingdom, the land I grew up in. It’s been months since I last set foot in Ridge House, my family’s ancestral home. Before my father died, before Archeon fell. Before I was free to love who I chose and go where I wanted. The Ridge was beautiful, a sanctuary away from the razor-edged life of court, but it was a prison too.
Elane dozes on my shoulder, her cheek pressed against the soft leather of my coat. When she’s asleep, her abilities disappear, leaving her bare of her usual glow. I don’t mind. She looks lovely either way. And I like being able to glimpse behind her shield of soft light and perfect complexion. She’s vulnerable in those moments, and it means she feels safe.
That’s why I’m doing this, more than any other reason. To keep her safe.
And to bargain.
We’ll talk soon.
The premier’s words still echo.
I should focus on my speech, the broadcast, and denying my blood tomorrow, but I can’t get rid of Davidson’s words.
When Elane told me about his offer, I thought about packing our things. We wouldn’t need much. Fine gowns and pretty clothing have no use in the wilderness. All I needed was a good stockpile of metals, some training gear. Rations, of course. I still think about it sometimes, ticking off the list of what to bring if we have to run. A force of habit, I think, after the months of war and risk. It isn’t in me to trust anyone outside my small circle. Not yet, at least.
“Please don’t,” I asked her, holding her hands in mine. The sun was bright through the windows in our salon, but I remember feeling cold.
“It’s just a job, Eve,” she said, almost scolding me. “He wants me to be an aide. To accompany him like those newbloods. Watch his back, keep my ears open. He knows I have experience in Silver courts—I’ll be good at dealing with the Silvers here in Montfort. I know what they come from, how they think. It’s not like I haven’t done the same before.”
For you. I hear it in the spaces between her words. Yes, she’s spied for me in the past. Yes, she’s risked her life for mine, to help me and my family push pieces along. She spied on Maven more than once, and that was certainly a death sentence if she was caught.
“It’s not the same, Elane.” He doesn’t value your life the way I do. “You’ll sit in the corner at first, quiet and invisible. Then he’ll ask you to go places he can’t, or won’t. To watch, report back. You’ll spy on his political opponents, his military generals, his allies—and maybe his enemies too. Each assignment more dangerous than the last.” I tightened my grip on her, already feeling her slip away. Already I could picture Davidson convincing her to check up on a raider camp or the court of a Prairie warlord. “You’re a shadow, my love. Just think of what he’ll use you for.”
Her fingers ripped from mine. “Some of us are more than just our ability, Samos.”
I remember the sting of her voice, so sharp and so final. I expected her to march down to the premier’s office and accept the position on the spot. But she didn’t then, and she hasn’t yet. It’s been a long month since he offered her a place in Montfort, a permanent one. No matter how much she wants to fit in the mountains, she still waits.
For you.
I tip my head back, leaning against the wall of the jet. It isn’t fair, to hold her back. We will both need to pull our weight soon, and she’s right: she’s done this before. In more dangerous places, with worse consequences. Surely the premier will protect her?
Don’t be so naive, Evangeline.
Montfort isn’t Norta, but Montfort isn’t without its dangers either.
“You should rest,” Ptolemus whispers across the aisle, pulling me out of my thoughts. He doesn’t look up from the papers in front of him, scraps covered in his untidy scrawl. Our speeches won’t be long by any account, but he agonizes over his anyway. His tiny lamp illuminates the otherwise dark interior of the jet, punctuated only by the low lights along the ceiling and in the cockpit.
The Montfort delegates are all dozing, clustered at the back of the craft to give us space.
I shake my head, unwilling to speak and disturb Elane. Wren is out cold too, sprawled across the seats facing Ptolemus, curled beneath a fur-lined blanket, her face buried against the cool air.
My brother glances at me sideways, his eyes catching the weak light. He looks me over for too long, but I have nowhere to run. I can only let him look.
I wonder if the Ridge is still standing. With my father dead, I can only imagine what disarray our home has fallen into. Silver nobles fighting to fill the hole he left. Reds rising up to join the Guard, or the Nortan States, or carve out their own place. Part of me hopes the sprawling estate has been burned to the ground. The rest aches to see those rooms of steel and glass, looking out on marching hills and valleys.
My chest tightens as my mind dances around the inevitable question. I try to avoid it, edging the center of a whirlpool. It never fails to pull me under.
“Do you think she’ll be there?” I rasp, and Elane shifts, but doesn’t wake.
Ptolemus’s gaze sharpens, one eyebrow raised.
The words almost stick in my mouth. “Our mother?”
He doesn’t answer.
He doesn’t know.
I expect shame. Regret. Relief. Fear. But when I set foot on the airfield tarmac and breathe my first gasp of Rift air, the only thing I can think of is teeth. Wolf’s teeth. Pressing into my neck, not breaking skin but holding me down, pinning me in place.
I only made it a few feet.
For a split second, I’m on the floor again, my cheek pressed against cold tile. My parents loom over me, their faces pulled in matching scowls of disgust. I betrayed them. I attacked my father. I tried to run. I didn’t get far. My mother’s wolves made sure of that. She could have made them tear me apart if she’d wanted. Larentia Viper is no woman to trifle with, though I certainly tried.
Ptolemus is the only reason she didn’t drag me home by my ankles, wolves snapping at me all the way. If not for his interference—if he hadn’t knocked my father out cold, and killed the wolf holding me in place—I don’t want to imagine where I’d be now.
Back here, I think, looking at the hills rising around the airfield.
Autumn has come to the Rift as well, dappling the green forests with orange and red. A breeze shudders the leaves, making the morning sunlight dance across the treetops. In the distance, I can just make out Ridge House sprawled across the crest of a hill. It looks small and unimportant, a dark smudge against brighter color.
Elane steps down from the jet after me, following my gaze. She heaves a heavy sigh and nudges me toward the waiting transports, her hand a gentle guide. Ptolemus and Wren are already there, clambering into the first vehicle. The rest of the Montfort delegates and guards head for the second transport, allowing us time alone. I expected at least one of them to follow, if only to observe. After all, we are the heirs to this kingdom, the surviving children of Volo Samos. For all they know, we could be planning to take up our birthright before the eyes of a continent.
It’s almost insulting, that no one sees us as threats anymore.
Wren is still yawning when I climb up and into the transport, sliding onto the seat across from her. Her Skonos colors look darker this morning, her gown a bloodred scarlet and iron gray. She’s ready to stand and watch, resolute in her support of Tolly’s choice to abdicate. Elane will do the same with me. She favored the lovely blue-and-gold dress yesterday, and now she wears a gown beaded with rose and blush pearls. Her own message is clear. The old house ways, the colors, the alliances and stratifications of nobility, are no more to her. House Haven
is not her family or her future.
The same cannot be said of me, or Ptolemus. House Samos abdicates a throne in an hour, and we must look like House Samos to do so. Our armored clothing is polished mirror and chrome, matching our silver hair and storm-cloud eyes. I clatter every time I move, disturbing the many rings, bracelets, earrings, and necklaces dangling off my body. I was raised to such pageantry, and this might be my very last parade.
“Will you rehearse?” I ask my brother, raising my chin. He finished the speech on the flight but never read it aloud.
Ptolemus nearly rolls his eyes. With his hair slicked back, he still looks like a prince. Or a king. “Will you?”
Smirking, I settle back in my seat, hands folded neatly in my lap. My sharp rings click together as the transport roars over the tarmac. “I’m glad I get to go second. You’re an easy act to follow.”
“Is that a challenge?” he replies.
I shrug, enjoying our game. Anything to distract from the familiar land speeding by in the window. “Just an observation.”
Wren puts a hand to Tolly’s shoulder, letting her long fingers drape against his armor. She brushes away an invisible piece of dust.
“It won’t take very long,” she says. Her eyes tick over my brother, looking for any sign of imperfection or flaw. Her touch is soft and familiar when she turns his face, running both thumbs over the gray circles under his eyes. Her black skin is dark against his as she wipes away any physical sign of exhaustion. The circles disappear beneath her ability. Suddenly he looks as if he spent the night in a palace instead of a cramped jet. “Especially since the others won’t be speaking.”
“Others?” My jaw tightens, as does my chest. Next to me, Elane draws in a sharp breath, and her eyes dart to mine. She looks as confused as I feel. “Tolly, I don’t like surprises. Especially today.”
He doesn’t look away from Wren. “Don’t worry—it’s no one you haven’t fought before.”
“That doesn’t exactly narrow it down,” I mutter. My brain spins through the possibilities.
Mare comes to mind first, but she is far away, still recuperating in a Montfort valley where no one can reach her. When she returns to civilization, the entire country will know it.
Broken Throne Page 26