Broken Throne Page 7

  “He’ll be bigger than his father,” Sara said. Not only was she Coriane’s chief lady-in-waiting, she was also her physician. “He’s a strong boy.”

  While any mother would revel in those words, Coriane feared them. Bigger than his father, a strong boy. She knew what that meant for a Calore prince, an heir to the Burning Crown.

  He will not be a soldier, she wrote in her newest diary. I owe him that much. Too long the sons and daughters of House Calore have been fighting, too long has this country had a warrior king. Too long have we been at war, on the front and—and also within. It might be a crime to write such things, but I am a queen. I am the queen. I can say and write what I think.

  As the months passed, Coriane thought more and more of her childhood home. The estate was gone, demolished by the Provos governors, emptied of her memories and ghosts. It was too close to the Lakelander border for proper Silvers to live, even though the fighting was contained to the bombed-out territories of the Choke. Even though few Silvers died, despite the Reds dying by the thousands. Conscripted from every corner of the kingdom, forced to serve and fight. My kingdom, Coriane knew. My husband signs every conscription renewal, never stopping the cycle, only complaining about the cramp in his hand.

  She watched her son on the floor, smiling with a single tooth, bashing a pair of wooden blocks together. He will not be the same, she told herself.

  The nightmares returned in earnest. This time they were of her baby grown, wearing armor, leading soldiers, sending them into a curtain of smoke. He followed and never returned.

  With dark circles beneath her eyes, she wrote what would become the second-to-last entry into her diary. The words seemed to be carved into the page. She had not slept in three days, unable to face another dream of her son dying.

  The Calores are children of fire, as strong and destructive as their flame, but Cal will not be like the others before. Fire can destroy, fire can kill, but it can also create. Forest burned in the summer will be green by spring, better and stronger than before. Cal’s flame will build and bring roots from the ashes of war. The guns will quiet, the smoke will clear, and the soldiers, Red and Silver both, will come home. One hundred years of war, and my son will bring peace. He will not die fighting. He will not. HE WILL NOT.

  Tibe was gone, at Fort Patriot in Harbor Bay. But Arven stood just outside her door, his presence forming a bubble of relief. Nothing can touch me while he is here, she thought, smoothing the downy hair on Cal’s head. The only person in my head is me.

  The nurse who came to collect the baby noticed the queen’s agitated manner, her twitching hands, the glazed eyes, but said nothing. It was not her place.

  Another night came and went. No sleep, but one last entry in Coriane’s diary. She had drawn flowers around each word—magnolia blossoms.

  The only person in my head is me.

  Tibe is not the same. The crown has changed him, as you feared it would. The fire is in him, the fire that will burn all the world. And it is in your son, in the prince who will never change his blood and will never sit a throne.

  The only person in my head is me.

  The only person who has not changed is you. You are still the little girl in a dusty room, forgotten, unwanted, out of place. You are queen of everything, mother to a beautiful son, wife to a king who loves you, and still you cannot find it in yourself to smile.

  Still you make nothing.

  Still you are empty.

  The only person in your head is you.

  And she is no one of any importance.

  She is nothing.

  The next morning, a maid found her bridal crown broken on the floor, an explosion of pearls and twisted gold. There was silver on it, blood dark from the passing hours.

  And her bathwater was black with it.

  The diary ended unfinished, unseen by any who deserved to read it.

  Only Elara saw its pages, and the slow unraveling of the woman inside.

  She destroyed the book like she destroyed Coriane.

  And she dreamed of nothing.

  While the Delphie archives and libraries of Norta are all but brimming with the Silver side of our recent history, a Red perspective is far more difficult to find. Naturally, such records were neither scientifically made nor well maintained, and I’ve done what I can to begin piecing together some form of a Red point of view. The vaults of Horn Mountain have been supplemental to my research, and, while helpful, their records are lacking as well. Most useful have been my contacts within the Scarlet Guard, who have connected me as best they can. Unlike Silvers, many Red communities have relied on oral tradition to pass down their histories. Unfortunately, this can sometimes be unreliable, and I’ve done what I can to corroborate this evidence with other, more concrete historical records. Despite the difficulty of such an endeavor, I find it more than necessary to do what we can to preserve some other angle on our history, lest we forget what came before and what befell the Reds of this world. As such, I’ve compiled what I have so far from Red-specific sources, in a combination of documents and interview transcripts.

  Though I am as guilty as any Silver for the abhorrent treatment of Reds throughout my lifetime and deserve no penance, I hope this is helpful to the future.

  —JJ

  (MR. ELLDON turns over a small but brilliant RUBY)

  ELLDON: Been in my family near 300 years. We used to serve kings, the first kings of this land. The old Calores, Caesar and his heirs. He was good to his servants, so they say. Son wasn’t. That’s how my grandfather’s grandfather’s grandfather or whoever ended up with this. Used to be more. A whole necklace full of them. But they disappeared over the years, sold or traded or just lost. This is all that’s left.

  JACOS: He stole it?

  ELLDON: He took it. The king’s pleasure boat was sinking. The king was shouting orders, shoving Reds into the water trying to save himself. Old Grandfather didn’t like that. And in the confusion, he ripped the rubies right off Caesarion’s neck and pushed him into the sea.

  JACOS: I see.

  ELLDON: King wasn’t a relative of yours, was he?

  JACOS: Most likely yes.

  (Mr. Elldon holds out the ruby.)

  ELLDON: You want it back?

  JACOS: Not in the slightest.

  * * *

  Mr. Tem Elldon of the Archeon Red sector claims his ancestor was responsible for the death of King Caesarion, who drowned in a boating incident in 44 NE.

  * * *

  While overseen by Silvers, the center itself was staffed by Reds—either those favored by the overseers or those who bribed their way into the less-grueling position. Their daily notes were stored and ignored with other official documentation.

  From the Records of the New Town Administrative Center:

  June 1, 144 NE: Still snowed under by the deported from up north. Staffing otherwise untrained individuals is more dangerous than difficult. Two got chewed up in the gear works yesterday, and another nearly ignited a depot in the weapons sector. We’ve sent requests up to the overseers to approve accelerated training for the Maiden Falls Reds, just to give them enough so they don’t kill themselves or anyone else on the manufacturing floors, but every single one has been denied. Any training is to be done outside shift hours, at our own discretion. The center is currently organizing volunteers to get the surviving two hundred or so ready to work. Most are under eighteen and separated from their families, as they’re too young to be conscripted with the rest of their communities up north. Still attempting to improve housing, especially for the young children.

  * * *

  The above corresponds with Julias III’s crackdown on the Red communities around Maiden Falls following the death of his son at the hands of Red bandits. He forced them to destroy their villages and build the fortress city Corvium at the border. Thousands of Reds were either conscripted into the Nortan military or deported to tech slums in punishment.

  * * *

  From the Records of the Red Watch in Ha
rbor Bay:

  . . . what we can to hide our people across the city, now that the Silvers are on the hunt. They don’t know who killed the queen’s brother, just that it was a Red with the Allegiance. As far as we know, the Allegiance is being rounded up. Some whisper got a hold of one of them and cracked the poor man right open. All the safe houses and escape routes. Tore it out like a bad tooth. We’re trying to cooperate, or look like we’re cooperating at least. Keep our own safe. Not much we can do for the Allegiance. They weren’t smart about this. Weren’t smart at all, and we’re going to suffer for it. . . .

  The Red Watch officer’s account refers to the assassination of Queen Andura’s brother and heir, Prince Marcas, in 197 NE. He was killed by a Red uprising in Harbor Bay. I assume the “Allegiance” referred to above was a predecessor to the Scarlet Guard.

  Increased movement out of the Lakelands along the River, look to be Red soldiers. Odd, they don’t head south, but turn east and head upriver at the Fork. All pay in full up front. Have ferried the same group twice this year. Other ferriers say they’ve done the same. I’ve got a strange feeling about this lot. I’ve got a strange feeling about this lot. They aren’t running, that’s for sure. And they aren’t acting on Silver orders. They pay too well for our descretion discretion.

  The Red soldiers gave me enough coin to buy my boat twice over to move them now and move them quick. Paid again at the border. Couldn’t resist. Took them up the Ohius, along the Nortan border. Dangurous Dangerous ground. Won’t risk that again. Still haven’t gotten their names, but there they’re heading north, judging by their gear. Far, far north.

  The Lakelander smugglers tipped off the ferriers at the Fork. Sivlers Silvers will be cracking down on the border checks, and have orders to destroy our boats if we land on their banks. There’s been some trouble with Reds on the Lakes. Enough to keep an eye on the border. They’re hunting.

  COL. FARLEY: Started slow, started small. Enough not to be noticed. A bridge collapse backs up transports and convoys for a few days. A citadel doesn’t get a weapons shipment on time. A troop march can’t go out. They have to double-time to keep a schedule, and the officers are frustrated, frazzled. Maybe one takes a bad step and cracks his head open. Maybe his children come to visit, and end up lost in the woods. That sort of thing.

  JACOS: That sort of thing.

  COL. FARLEY: You look a bit green, Jacos. I thought you studied this? Thought you’ve seen worse?

  JACOS: Words on the page are very different from hearing it firsthand, sir. So you say this began in the army?

  COL. FARLEY: That’s right. My unit wasn’t assigned to a Citadel or specific legion. We floated. We were good at war, good at killing. The Silvers sent us where we were needed. To the front—or somewhere else.

  JACOS: Within the Lakelands?

  COL. FARLEY: The border, mostly, but yes. We were dispatched all over.

  JACOS: I believe it’s your turn to look a little green, Colonel.

  COL. FARLEY: That’s what did it, in the end. Sending us after our own. Making us stop a riot any way we could. Pull a mother away from her child as the kid’s taken away to conscript. It didn’t sit well.

  JACOS: I can imagine it didn’t.

  COL. FARLEY: We had a Silver officer keeping us in check, but he liked to drink. Liked to eat. Liked life with the higher-ups at the Citadels. And so long as we showed up where we had to be, he didn’t mind what we did in the meantime.

  JACOS: Blowing up bridges and killing officers.

  COL. FARLEY: Right. We kept the circle small. Just my unit at first. We were all from the Hud, the north, a cold and barren place. You learn to hunt when you learn to walk up there. Sentry was with me from the beginning, and so was Crimson. He was our best contact with the Rivermen.

  JACOS: The Rivermen?

  COL. FARLEY: That’s what we call the ferriers and smugglers of the Disputed Lands. No one better at getting you over the border or moving along the river. We weren’t allowed to travel with weaponry, but they were good at keeping us armed when we needed to be.

  JACOS: So the Command Generals code-named Sentry and Crimson were part of your unit. How did you meet the others?

  COL. FARLEY: Crossed paths over the years. Most of them were doing the same thing we were. Sabotaging the Silvers without much plan beyond a week or two. It was Palace and Swan who really brought us together, gave us an objective. They knew the Silvers better than we did. Knew how they thought, how they acted. And they knew that, if we really wanted to make a difference, this had to be bigger than us.

  JACOS: And it certainly is. Would you like to talk about the incident at the Hud? It’s referred to as the Drowning of the Northlands.

  (Colonel Farley stares for a long time)

  COL. FARLEY: No I fucking would not.

  * * *

  While the Disputed Lands keep a different calendar from Nortans, and the river ferrier is hardly a scholar, I can triangulate his entries to sometime after 300 NE. Based on my conversation with Colonel Farley, I suspect these Red soldiers moving along the border included himself, General Sentry, General Crimson, and the beginnings of the Scarlet Guard.

  * * *

  JACOS: Before Huntress, what was your code name within the Scarlet Guard?

  GEN. FARLEY: I was Lamb. And my father is Ram.

  JACOS: You were quite young when you joined.

  GEN. FARLEY: Yes.

  JACOS: And you aided your father with his missions throughout the Lakelands. Planting operatives in key positions, sabotaging Silver trade and transport, smuggling, intelligence gathering, assassinations, et cetera.

  GEN. FARLEY: They were my missions as well.

  JACOS: Of course. And you were hand-selected for the Nortan infiltration.

  GEN. FARLEY: Yes.

  JACOS: How old were you when your mother and sister died?

  (General Farley does not respond)

  JACOS: Would you like to talk about the incident at the Hud?

  GEN. FARLEY: No I fucking would not.

  * * *

  FROM MILITARY RECORDS OF HORN MOUNTAIN AND THE MONTFORT DEFENSE CENTER:

  * * *

  Our spies in the Lakelands have reported a major event in the north, on the shores of the Bay of Hud. Based on our intelligence, several attacks and acts of sabotage throughout the kingdom have been traced to a small group based out of a remote village. The King of the Lakelands retaliated with force, and moved the waters of the bay to quite literally extinguish the first embers of rebellion. We’re still waiting on casualty counts, but preliminary reports place it in the hundreds. I’ve put in a request to send an operative to investigate properly and report back. I’m most interested in this so-called group, their organization, and their size. They seem to be well coordinated and able to move. Not to mention smart. Several have been captured but have given nothing under interrogation. It seems they operate on a need-to-know basis, very militaristic. No one knows the whole picture. Will see how they respond.

  * * *

  Drowning of the Northlands most likely early spring, 315 NE.

  * * *

  Jacos: I understand you played no small part in recent events, particularly those surrounding Mare Barrow.

  Mr. Whistle: Wasn’t much of anything. Girl’s a good thief. I used to sell off what she lifted, take a little for my troubles.

  Jacos: You also introduced her to General Diana Farley and the Scarlet Guard.

  (Mr. Whistle narrows his eyes and shrugs.)

  Jacos: It’s all right to tell me as much or as little as you like, sir. I’m simply here to get every angle.

  Whistle: You know Whistle isn’t actually my last name, right? It’s a code. Guard’s not the only people around with code names, eh.

  Jacos: I see.

  Whistle: It’s part of a bigger operation. The Whistle network. Fences and smugglers all over the country, relaying with each other. Someone down south can move sugar, up north we got batteries, and so on. Necessary, you know, with yo
ur type running everything. How else were we supposed to survive in the cracks?

  Jacos: I certainly agree with you. And the Scarlet Guard infiltrated the Whistle network early on, didn’t they?

  Whistle: Infiltrated? No, they partnered with us. We helped them move, carried information, smuggled supplies and people. But we were in charge of ourselves. No one took a job they didn’t want. That was the agreement, and the Guard kept it.

  Jacos: How long were you working with the Guard?

  Whistle: Oh, me? Not long. Less than two years, I suppose. They move pretty quickly, that Guard. Once they set to moving.

  Jacos: And before the Guard? What was life like then? I assume you’ve seen a great deal of it.

  Whistle: Is that your way of saying I look old?

  (Mr. Whistle laughs)

  Whistle: Yes, I’ve seen my share. The good, the bad. The Stilts is better than most places. We’re no tech town, and I never had to pass through one of those, thankfully. But you still have to watch kids ripped out of their homes and marched off. Still have to see the letters come in and send a parent to their knees. I’m lucky. No kids. No family. And I had good cover. Swept the streets to keep myself employed in the eyes of any Silver who cared to look. At least no one has to do that anymore. They don’t have to worry about the army, even if they’re worrying about their next meal or the next angry Silver to come blasting through their town. Not that I’m complaining. Things were worse before the Guard, before the war. We didn’t know they could be better. We didn’t hope for it. We knew what happened to Reds who stood up. Uprisings that failed. Firebrands killed for a speech or a secret letter. There was no use in trying to change the world. It was just too big, too strong, the Silvers always better than us. No more.