Their house colors are symbol enough. The nobles will not go quietly, or easily. They’ll hold on to their power—and pride—as much as they can.
Anabel Lerolan most of all. She must have cracked open her jewel box for this occasion. Her throat, wrists, and fingers gleam with flame-colored gems, each brighter than the last, easily overshadowing her States pin. I half expect to see a crown on her gray head. But her boldness only goes so far. Instead she clutches the closest thing to a crown she has left.
She walks with Cal on her arm, her elbow hooked in his.
Like Julian, his new appearance suits him. No cape, no crown, no riot of medals or insignia. Just the black uniform, the circle pin, and a red square on his collar to mark him as an officer. His black hair is close-cropped again, in the military style he likes best, and he must have shaved this morning. I can see a fresh cut on his neck, peeking out just over his collar. It’s barely scabbed over, still spotted with silver blood.
There are dark circles around his eyes. He’s exhausted, overworked, and, like Julian, somehow looks happy. I feel the jealous, impulsive urge to ask why.
He isn’t looking at me. And he didn’t say a word.
Under the table, Farley squeezes my wrist in a show of comfort.
I jump at the contact, almost sparking her in the process.
“Easy,” she says without moving her lips.
I mumble an apology, my words lost in the hubbub as the final delegation settles in.
Like me, Cal takes a seat at the table, in the center next to Ada. He always liked being on the front lines.
His grandmother and uncle are no different. The rest of the delegation is evenly split, a mix of Reds and Silvers, nobles I recognize and commoners I don’t. The latter gape at the room. The nobles are less easily impressed, and doing their best to show it.
The premier doesn’t mind either response.
He simply claps his hands together, a signal to us all.
“Shall we begin?”
FOUR
Cal
Don’t look at her, don’t look at her, don’t look at her. Focus, focus, focus.
I’m so wound up I nearly set fire to my chair. Even my grandmother, more fireproof than most, leans away, lest I singe some of her precious silk. It’s not like she’ll be able to procure more, at least not the way she used to as a queen.
If the rest of my delegation notice my unease over Mare, they’re good enough not to say anything. Ada carries on without hesitation, laying her papers out in front of her. They’re covered in neat, meticulous notes ranging from troop numbers to distances between cities. Not that she needs any of it. The information is all in her head already. I get the feeling she just doesn’t want to unsettle anyone. After all, her ability is rare, even among newbloods, and largely unstudied.
There was some grumbling from the nobles, but she was the obvious choice to represent us at the first meeting. Ada Wallace has seen this war from many angles and perfectly understands the rest, not to mention the history of any revolution and reconstruction she could get her hands on. Most, she said, were flawed, if not outright failures. I shudder to think what might come to pass if we are the same.
“Welcome to the honored delegations of the Nortan States and the Scarlet Guard,” the premier says, bowing his head to both our tables. He folds his hands in front of him, his posture open and inviting. Everything about that man is a calculation. “The Montfort delegation and my government thank you for making the journey to be here with us.”
“The long journey,” one of the Nortan nobles mutters, only to be politely ignored by the chamber. I resist the very royal urge to send him from the room. But I don’t have the power to do that anymore. We’re all equals here, even the ones who don’t deserve it. Even the ones who deserve to be more than the rest.
I clench my jaw. It’s still an undertaking not to look at her. I manage a glance toward her hands, hidden beneath the table. Farley is safer territory. She sits resolutely at Mare’s side, her attention and iron focus on the premier. She’s buttoned into that uniform she hates. Mare isn’t, having forgone the stiff, scarlet uniform for purple velvet. It’s the color she wore as Mareena Titanos. Her sister must have chosen her clothes for her, since Mare doesn’t have much taste or talent for fashion. If not for the circumstances, I would laugh at the thought of Gisa scolding Mare into dressing appropriately, and forcing her into the jacket.
I blush at the thought of getting her out of it.
Focus, my mind screams, and heat flares around me.
“Could you not?” Julian mutters through clenched teeth. The corner of his mouth twitches, betraying amusement.
“Sorry,” I mutter back.
One of the Scarlet Guard Command generals speaks up for her delegation, responding to Davidson. “Of course, Premier,” she says, her voice carrying. I recognize her as General Swan. The Scarlet Guard still insists on code names, even now. “And we’re grateful to your country for hosting us.”
Not that there was really another option, I think to myself. The Scarlet Guard has territory but no central government of their own, and the Nortan States are still rebuilding. And of course, holding meetings on democracy in a king’s former palace might send the wrong message. Trading one king for another, and all that.
“The delegation of the Nortan States concurs,” Ada says, raising her chin to the premier.
Uncle Julian leans in next to her, speaking to the room. “We’re happy to be here, and to see firsthand what a former Silver kingdom can look like.”
My grandmother has little taste for pleasantries. She purses her lips next to me but holds her tongue. I can’t say I disagree with her impatience. We should be getting down to business, not blowing smoke at one another.
Premier Davidson pushes on at a glacial pace. He gestures to the papers in front of him, with matching sets all over the room. “You should all have your agendas, as agreed upon in our prior communications.”
I nearly roll my eyes. Who could forget the prior communications, a largely useless back-and-forth of posturing within the alliance? There were arguments about everything from timing to seating arrangements. In fact, the only position they could all agree upon was a need to summarize progress across their delegations. And even in that, the Scarlet Guard was less than happy to oblige. They play things too close to the chest for my taste. Though I can’t blame them for their hesitation. I know what Silver betrayal looks like up close. But their obfuscating certainly makes everything all the more complicated.
“Would the delegation for the Scarlet Guard like to go first?” Davidson says, extending a hand toward their table. His lips curve into his inscrutable smile. “What can you say regarding your progress in the east?”
Farley leans forward, her face tight. She’s annoyed too. “Progress is being made,” she says, speaking for the Guard. The other generals look on, satisfied.
The rest of us wait expectantly for a real explanation, but she settles back into her chair, her mouth pursed shut. Next to her, Mare bites her lip, eyes downcast. She’s fighting the urge to laugh.
I grit my teeth. Farley . . .
Davidson merely blinks, unfazed. “Would you care to elaborate, General?”
She doesn’t miss a beat. “Not in an open forum.”
“This is hardly an open forum,” my grandmother says, bracing her hands on the table. She half stands, ready to fight. Just in case, I put a hand out, grabbing the edge of her silk clothing beneath the table. She’s an old woman, yes, but I’ll pull her back if I need to. On my other side, Julian stiffens, his posture going rigid.
Nanabel pushes on, her voice even. “How can we hope to accomplish anything if you refuse to share any information whatsoever? Our delegations are handpicked, each one of us dedicated to this alliance and our nations.”
Across the floor, the Scarlet Guard remain resolute and in solidarity. General Swan and the others don’t flinch beneath the glare of a former queen and powerful oblivion. Farley
even manages to respond without speaking. Her eyes flicker, just for a moment, to the other Silver nobles at our table. They turn to stone beneath her gaze, eagerly meeting her challenge. And I wonder if it isn’t just Nanabel I should worry about. Breaking up a fight between Diana Farley and a former Silver lord is not high on my list of things to accomplish today.
Farley’s meaning is crystal clear. She doubts the Silvers in our delegation, the nobles who would have executed her only a few months ago if given the chance. Some of them look like they still might; their gazes are that sharp.
To my surprise, Ada is the one to move first. She slides a single page out from her stack of papers, her eyes scanning it thoroughly. “A progress report from the Scarlet Guard is not needed. We have more than enough information to go on.”
At her table, Mare’s mouth falls open in confusion. “Ada . . . ?”
Ada merely speaks over her, the words coming out rapid-fire.
“Based on fluctuations in shipping and unscheduled troop movements in the Lakelands, you’ve been fighting along the Ohius River border. And if the recent trade patterns of the rivermen smugglers are any indication, you’ve been using them to ferry resources and personnel in and out of Sanctum. That’s a good amount of Guard traffic, much more than usual in other cities. It’s matched only by the patterns I observed at the Piedmont base you once held. I believe you took the Lakelander city approximately three weeks ago, and are using it as a base of operations in the southeastern Lakelands, allowing for easy cooperation with the rivermen of the Disputed Lands. Not to mention the news out of Citadel of the Rivers.”
The silence that follows is deafening. Ada merely flips another page, the movement of paper soft as the beating of a bird’s wing.
“The Lakelander fortress sits at the confluence of the Ohius and the Great River, with quick access to the Tanasian into Piedmont. It’s a very important military installation servicing both the Lakelander river navy and their land army. Or at least, it was until you occupied it—two days ago, perhaps? That’s what I gathered from the sudden flood of Lakelander soldiers fleeing upriver, as well as the cessation of Lakelander communications to the Citadel.”
The warmth that bleeds through me is born of pride, not anger.
I could hug Ada. I really could. Of course this was all in our reports, sourced from Montfort’s shared intelligence, our own operatives in the region, and even simple news from citizens living on the border. But only she could connect the dots so thoroughly and perfectly. She’s truly brilliant. If I still believed in royalty, she’d make a fearsome queen.
And though this is not a royal court, I do my best to gauge the library the way I would a throne room. The Guard generals remain still, but their aides exchange worried looks and even whispers. I force myself to look at Mare, at the mask she maintains so well. Her face doesn’t move, but she glances sidelong at Farley. Clearly she has no idea if anything Ada says is true. I’m guessing she didn’t spend much of her time away poring over war reports. Typical. I almost laugh to myself.
The young general is much easier to read. Farley’s eyes narrow and her brow draws down into a familiar arrow of irritation. Ada avoids the stern look deftly, though a blush rises high on her cheeks. It’s taken a lot for her to say such things. It probably even feels like a small betrayal.
“We didn’t occupy it,” Farley says coolly. “We destroyed it.”
Another Silver fortress burning flashes in my head. The flames are my own, all-consuming, leaving ash in their wake. I return Farley’s gaze. I know what it’s like to destroy a city piece by piece. “Same as Corvium,” I breathe.
“Less for us to defend, less for them to win back.” Her words are knives thrown in every direction “And fewer Silver monuments to Red death.”
Farley has always been the Scarlet Guard attack dog, and she plays her role well today. The Reds of my delegation look on her with pride. The Silver nobles would leave the room in protest if they could.
“May I remind you there are Silvers in the Montfort delegation?” Again, my grandmother rises to Farley’s bait, eager to bicker. She flicks one wrinkled hand toward the premier’s table and the two steel-haired siblings sitting in the rows behind him.
Evangeline and Ptolemus look as they did on the day of the abdication, hiding their nerves behind a performance of cold detachment. Both wear green banded with metal—iron for Evangeline, chrome for her brother.
In front of them, Representative Radis shifts to shield the scions of House Samos from view. He drums his long fingers on the table. One corner of his mouth rises in a feral smile, showing a glint of teeth.
“And we’ve proven our loyalty to our Republic, Anabel,” he says in a low voice. This man was a royal too, years ago. He threw his crown away like so many here. “You’re all currently doing the same.”
Under the table, I clench a fist, digging my nails into my palms. I’ve had more than enough of this posturing from every corner of the room. It’s nothing more than a useless waste of time and energy.
“Forgive me,” I blurt out, half rising in my seat. Cutting off Radis and my grandmother before they can really start splitting hairs on Silver sacrifice is the least I can do. “I know I’m going off agenda here, but we only have so much time this week, and I think we need to focus on the matter at hand.”
Radis turns his sneer on me. It’s nothing compared to what I’m used to. “And what do you think that is, Officer Calore?”
If the title is meant to sting, he has certainly failed. Better than Your Majesty.
I straighten under his scrutiny, now standing fully. I’m more use on the battlefield or in the training ring, but I’m no stranger to speaking in front of a crowded room. “Montfort is well defended; the Scarlet Guard are mobile and military ready. As it stands, the Nortan States are the weakest link in this alliance. The soft underbelly. We’re trying to rebuild as fast as we can, but even under the best of circumstances, it will take years. You know that,” I say, gesturing to the Montfort delegation with a gentle hand. “You’ve done it before, and done it well.”
The premier nods. “There are always improvements to be made, but yes, we’ve done what we can to build the Republic.”
Davidson is a reasonable man and Julian’s friend. If anyone will understand our plight, it must be him.
“We’re trying to do it all with an ax hanging over our heads,” I bite out. Even here, in a stoic library, I feel the threat of another war looming. It breathes down my neck like a ghost. “The Lakelands are regrouping, the nymph queens will return, and when they do, they’re going to find a country barely able to feed itself, let alone fight through the winter.”
Without looking, Davidson shuffles through his papers and pulls out a page I can’t read from this distance. He doesn’t seem surprised. “Do you have a suggestion?”
I have too many. The list rattles off in my head, quick as gunfire. “We need a quick stabilization of our economy, our national treasury—”
Radis folds his arms. “Whose national treasury, exactly? Your brother’s?”
I do all I can to temper a reaction, keeping my face still and empty. Inside, my heart still bleeds for the brother I lost. Across the room, Mare shifts in her seat, her eyes faraway.
“My country’s,” I reply, stone-voiced. Whatever court Radis grew up in was not as married to etiquette as my own. “Anything still sitting in the vaults of Archeon belongs to our people now.”
From the Scarlet Guard, the Command general Drummer laughs unkindly. His portly face flushes crimson with the effort. “So you’ve been distributing it fairly among the Reds, how lovely.”
I clench my jaw. “We’ve been using it to rebuild—”
“Silver cities,” Drummer mutters under his breath, even as I keep talking.
“—bolster wages, improve conditions for Red soldiers, improve the tech cities, maintain the harvest—”
General Swan looks at me over steepled hands. Her smile is tight. “Then it sounds like
you’re doing quite well.”
It takes all my restraint not to laugh in her face.
“We’re going to institute price controls throughout the States, to avoid price gouging of food and other resources—”
I know the next voice in my bones. She’s thunder in broad daylight.
“From the Reds now in full control of what they produce. Farmers. Factory workers.”
Mare crosses her arms tightly, almost painfully so, in an effort to shield herself from the scrutiny of the room. She doesn’t enjoy things like this. Never has. Even if she’s good at it, never backing down. I stare back at her across the floor. The yards feel like a canyon and an inch, too far and too close.
For her, I have no quick response; the words die in my throat.
On my left, one of the Silvers speaks in my place. Welle, a former governor, has a voice like honey, too sweet and sticky. “Someone else owns the tools they’re using, Miss Barrow,” he says with punchable smugness.
Mare doesn’t hesitate. “They are welcome to use them,” she snaps. This man used to rule the village she lived in, and all the land she’d ever known. “What else?” she adds, her eyes flying back to challenge me.
It almost feels like sparring with her again. I admit, it thrills me.
“The Silver wealth of the noble families—”
“Should be used to even the field,” she snaps again, but I hardly mind. I’d take it all, just to speak with her. With a burst of warmth, I realize this is our first conversation in months. Even if I can barely get a word in. “That money was earned on the backs of Red workers for generations. Tens of generations.”
You’re not wrong, I want to say. But what you’re asking can’t be done.
Still in his seat, Julian puts a hand on my arm, motioning for the floor. “You need the Silver nobles placated,” he says. Mare and the Scarlet Guard turn their fiery resolve on him, each of them like a lit ember. “We need them with us. If any attempt is made to seize their assets now, I fear the bottom falls out, and the Nortan States die before they’ve even begun to live.”
Broken Throne Page 32