War Storm Page 8

  Shamed, I look back at Gisa, searching her quickly. Her shoulders droop and she sighs, barely nodding. She picks at the sleeve of her shirt, avoiding my eyes.

  “So you’ve heard,” I say, my voice flat and empty.

  “Not everything,” she replies. Her eyes dart to Kilorn, and I’m willing to bet he tipped everyone off, relaying the less painful parts of my message last night. Nervous, Gisa twists a lock of hair around her finger. The dark red strands gleam. “But enough to figure it out. Something about another queen, a new king, and Montfort, of course. Always Montfort.”

  Kilorn’s lips twist, pursing together. He runs a hand through his choppy blond hair, mirroring Gisa’s discomfort. There’s anger too. It simmers in him, lighting up his green eyes. “I can’t believe he said yes.”

  I can only nod.

  “Coward,” Kilorn snaps. He clenches a fist. “Idiot coward. Wasteful, spoiled-brat bastard. I should break his jaw.”

  “I’ll help,” Gisa mutters.

  No one scolds them. Not even me, though Kilorn certainly expects it. He glances my way, surprised by my silence. I hold his gaze, trying to speak without saying the name. Shade gave his life for our cause, and Tiberias can’t even give up the crown.

  I wonder if Kilorn knows my heart is broken in two. He must.

  Is this what it felt like, when I pushed Kilorn away? When I told him I didn’t feel the same? That I couldn’t give him what he wanted?

  His gaze softens with pity. I hope he doesn’t know what this feels like. I hope I didn’t put him in this much pain. It’s just not in you to love me, he said once. Now I wish that weren’t true. I wish I could save us both from this agony.

  Thankfully, Mom puts a hand on my arm. A light touch, but enough to guide me to the long sofa. She doesn’t say anything about the Calore prince, and the glare she shoots around the room communicates her point. Enough.

  “We got your message,” she says, her voice a little too loud and bright as she forces the change in subject. “From that other newblood, with the beard—”

  “Tahir,” Gisa offers as she sits down next to me. Kilorn hovers behind us both. “You’ve decided on resettlement for us.” Even though it’s what she wanted, I don’t miss the sharp edges to her tone. My sister blinks at me, one eyebrow raised.

  I sigh aloud. “Well, I’m not making decisions for you. But if you want to go, there’s a place for you all. The premier said you’ll be welcomed with open arms.”

  “What about everyone else?” Tramy asks. He narrows his eyes as he perches on the arm of Bree’s chair. “We’re not the only ones evacuated here.”

  He catches an elbow in the side and doubles over as Bree snickers. “Thinking about that clerk? What’s-her-name, with the curly hair.”

  “No,” Tramy grumbles back, his golden cheeks flaming beneath his beard. Bree tries to poke at his flushed face but gets swatted away. My brothers have a terrific talent for acting like children. It used to annoy me, but not anymore. The normalcy of them is soothing.

  “It will take time.” I can only shrug. “But for us . . .”

  Gisa scoffs aloud. She tosses back her head, exasperated. “For you, Mare. We’re not silly enough to think the leader of the Republic wants to do us a favor. What does he get in return?” With nimble fingers, she grabs my hand, tightening her grip. “What does he get from you?”

  “Davidson isn’t Silver,” I say. “What he wants, I’m willing to give.”

  “And when do you get to stop giving things?” she snaps back. “When you die? When you end up like Shade?”

  The name drops a hush over the room. At the door, Farley turns her face, hiding in shadow.

  I stare at Gisa, searching my sister’s pretty face. She’s fifteen now, settling into herself. Her face used to be rounder, her freckles less numerous. And she didn’t have the cares she has now. Just the usual worries. It used to be little Gisa we relied on. Her skill, her talent. Her ability to save our family. Not anymore. She doesn’t begrudge the loss of that weight. But her concern is clear. She doesn’t want it on my shoulders either.

  Too late.

  “Gisa,” Mom says, her voice a low warning.

  I recover as best I can, pulling my hand away. My spine turns to steel. “We need to request more troops, and Premier Davidson’s government has to approve before they can be sent. I’ll help present our coalition, show them who we all are. Make a convincing argument for the war against Norta and the Lakelands.”

  My sister is unconvinced. “I know you’re good at arguing, but you aren’t that good.”

  “No, but I’m the crossroads,” I say, dancing around the truth of it. “Between the Scarlet Guard, the Silver courts, the newbloods, and Reds too.” I’m not lying, at least. “And I’ve had enough practice putting on a good show.”

  Farley balances her baby in one arm, putting her other hand on her hip. She drums a finger against the holster of the pistol glued to her side. “Mare’s trying to say she’s a good distraction. Where she goes, Cal follows. Even now, when he’s trying to win back his throne. He’s coming with us to Montfort, and so is his new betrothed.”

  Behind me, I hear Kilorn suck in a hissing breath.

  Gisa is just as disgusted. “Only they would stop to arrange marriages in the middle of a war.”

  “For another alliance, right?” Kilorn sneers. “Maven did it already. Locked up the Lakelands. Cal needs to do the same. So who is it? Some girl from Piedmont? Really cement what we’re doing down here?”

  “It doesn’t matter who she is.” My fist clenches in my lap as I realize that I’m lucky it’s Evangeline. A girl who wants nothing to do with him. Another chink in his flaming armor.

  “And you’re just going to let this happen?” Kilorn paces out from behind the sofa, his long limbs making even strides. He glares between Farley and me. “No, excuse me, you’re going to help? Help Cal fight for a crown no one should have? After everything we’ve done?” He’s so upset, I almost expect him to spit on the floor. I keep my face still, impassive, letting him fume. I can’t remember him ever being so disappointed in me. Angry, yes, but not like this. His chest rises and falls rapidly as he waits for my explanation.

  Farley does it for me. “Montfort and the Scarlet Guard won’t fight two wars,” she says evenly, emphasizing the words. Conveying a message. “We have to take on our enemies one at a time. Do you understand?”

  My family seems to tighten in unison, their eyes going dark. Dad especially. He runs a thumb along his jaw, thoughtful, as his lips press into a thin line. Kilorn is less subdued. Green fire sparks behind his eyes. “Oh,” he murmurs, almost smiling. “I see.”

  Bree blinks. “Uh, I don’t?”

  “No one is surprised,” Tramy mutters under his breath.

  I lean forward, eager to make them all understand. “We aren’t going to give the throne to another Silver king. At least not for long. The Calore brothers are at war, spending their forces fighting each other. When the dust settles . . .”

  Dad drops his hand on his knee. I don’t miss the tremble in his fingers. I feel it in mine too. “It will be easier to deal with the victor.”

  “No more kings,” Farley breathes. “No more kingdoms.”

  I have no idea what that world could look like. But I might soon, if Montfort is everything I’ve been promised.

  If only I still believed in promises.

  We don’t bother trying to sneak out. Mom and Dad snore like trains, and my siblings know better than to stop me. The rain hasn’t let up, but Kilorn and I don’t mind. We walk down the row-house street without speaking, the only noise coming from our feet squelching through puddles as the storm rumbles in the distance. I can barely feel it anymore, as the lightning and thunder spiral away toward the coast. It isn’t that cold, and the well-illuminated base keeps out the darkness. We don’t have any real destination. No direction but forward.

  “He’s a coward,” Kilorn mumbles. He kicks at a loose pebble. It skitters away, spre
ading ripples across the wet street.

  “You said that already,” I reply. “Along with a few other things.”

  “Well, I meant it.”

  “He deserves every word.”

  Silence drags over us like a heavy curtain. We both know this is strange territory. My romantic entanglements aren’t exactly his favorite subject, and I don’t want to inflict any more pain than I already have on my closest friend.

  “We don’t have to talk—”

  He cuts me off, putting a hand on my arm. His touch is firm but friendly. The lines between us are clearly drawn, and Kilorn values me enough to never cross them. He might not even feel the same as he did before. I’ve changed so much in the last few months. It’s possible the girl he thought he loved is gone. I know what that’s like too, to love someone who doesn’t really exist.

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “I know what he means to you.”

  “Meant,” I growl, trying to push past him.

  But his grip tightens. “No, I didn’t make a mistake. He still means something to you, even if you won’t admit that.”

  It isn’t worth the argument. “Fine. I admit it,” I force through clenched teeth. It’s dark enough that he might not notice my face turning scarlet. “I asked the premier,” I mumble. Kilorn will understand. He has to understand. “I asked to keep him alive. When the time comes, when we turn. Is that weakness?”

  Kilorn’s face falls. The harsh streetlights illuminate him from behind, giving him a halo. He’s a handsome boy, if he isn’t already considered a man. If only my heart fell to him instead of someone else.

  “I don’t think so,” he says. “Love can be exploited, I guess, used to manipulate. It’s leverage. But I would never call loving someone else a weakness. I think living without love at all, any kind of love, is weakness. And the worst kind of darkness.”

  I swallow thickly. The tears don’t feel so immediate anymore. “When did you become so wise?”

  He grins, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I read books now.”

  “Do they have pictures?”

  Barking a laugh, he starts walking again. “You’re such a kind person.”

  I match his pace. “That’s what I hear,” I reply, glancing up at his lanky form. His hair is soaked through now, darker in the wet. Almost brown. Kilorn could be Shade if I squinted. Suddenly I miss my brother so much I can barely breathe.

  I won’t lose anyone else the way I lost Shade. It’s an empty promise, with no guarantees. But I need some kind of hope. I need some kind of hope, however small it may be.

  “Will you come to Montfort?” The words blurt out of me, and I can’t bite them back. It’s a selfish request. Kilorn doesn’t have to follow me around everywhere I go. And it’s not my place to demand anything of him. But I don’t want to leave him behind again.

  His responding grin erases any trepidation I might have. “Am I allowed? Thought it was some kind of mission.”

  “It is. And I’m allowing it.”

  “Because it’s safe,” he replies, eyeing me sidelong.

  I purse my lips, searching for an answer he might accept. Yes, it is safe. Or the closest thing we have to safe. It isn’t wrong to want him out of danger.

  Kilorn brushes my arm. “I get it,” he continues. “Listen, I’m not about to storm a city or shoot jets out of the sky. I know what my limitations are, and how many I have compared to the rest of you.”

  “Just because you can’t kill someone with a snap of your fingers doesn’t make you less than anyone else,” I fire back, almost electrified with sudden indignation. I wish I could list all the wonderful things about Kilorn. All the important things he is.

  His expression sours. “Don’t remind me.”

  I grab his arm, nails digging into wet fabric. He doesn’t stop walking. “I’m serious, Kilorn,” I say. “So you’ll come?”

  “I’ll check my schedule.”

  I dig my elbow into his side and he jumps away, forcing an exaggerated frown.

  “Stop it. You know I bruise like a peach.”

  I elbow him again for good measure, both of us laughing as much as we dare.

  We continue on quietly, lapsing into an easy silence. This time it isn’t so stifling. My usual worries melt away, or at least step back for long moments. Kilorn is my home too, as much as my family. His presence is a pocket of time, a narrow place where we can exist without consequence. Nothing before, nothing after.

  At the end of the street, a figure seems to materialize from the rain, shedding drops of dark and light. I recognize the silhouette before my body has time to react.

  Julian.

  The gangly Silver hesitates when he sees us, only for a second, but it’s enough time for me to know. His side is chosen, and it isn’t mine.

  Cold bleeds through me, from fingers to toes. Even Julian.

  As he approaches, Kilorn nudges me.

  “I can head back,” he whispers.

  I glance at him briefly, drawing strength from him. “Please don’t.”

  His brows knit with concern, but he nods curtly.

  My old tutor still wears his long robes, despite the rain, and he shakes water from the folds of his faded yellow clothing. No use in it. The rain keeps pelting down, smoothing out the slight curls of his gray-streaked hair.

  “I was hoping to catch you at home,” he calls over the hissing downpour. “Well, honestly, I was hoping to catch you indisposed so I could do this in the morning. Instead of out in this infernal wet.” Julian shakes his head like a dog and pushes hair away from his eyes.

  “Say what you came here to say, Julian.” I cross my arms. As the night falls, so does the temperature. I might catch a chill, even here in steaming Piedmont.

  Julian doesn’t reply. Instead his eyes flick to Kilorn, one eyebrow raised in silent question. “He’s fine,” I say, answering before he can ask. “Speak up before we all drown out here.”

  My tone sharpens, and so does Julian. He isn’t a fool. His face falls, reading the disappointment etched on me. “I know you feel abandoned,” he begins, choosing his words with maddening care.

  I can’t help but bristle. “Stick to history. I won’t let you lecture me on what I’m allowed to feel.”

  He only blinks, taking my response in stride. Again he pauses, long enough to let a raindrop roll down his straight nose. He does it to gauge me, to measure, to study. For the first time, his patient manner makes me want to seize him by the shoulders and shake some impulsive words out of him.

  “Very well,” he says, his voice low and wounded. “Then, in the interest of history, or what will very soon be history, I am still accompanying my nephew on your journey west. I would like to see the Free Republic for myself, and I think I can be of use to Cal there.” Julian starts to take a step forward, toward me, but thinks better of it. He keeps his distance.

  “Does Tiberias have some interest in obscure history that I don’t know about?” I scoff, the words coming out harsher than usual.

  He looks torn; that much is very clear. He can barely look me in the eye. The rain plasters his hair to his forehead, clings to his lashes, pulls at him with tiny fingers. It smooths him out somehow, as if washing away his days. Julian seems younger than when I met him, almost a year ago. Less sure of himself. Full of worry and doubt.

  “No,” he concedes. “While I normally encourage my nephew to pursue all knowledge he can, there are some things I’d like to steer him away from. Some stones he should not waste time trying to overturn.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

  Julian frowns. “I assume he mentioned his hopes for Maven. Before.”

  Before he chose the crown over me. “He did,” I whisper, sounding small.

  “He thinks there might be some way to fix his brother. Heal the wounds of Elara Merandus.” Slowly, Julian shakes his head. “But there is no completing a puzzle with missing pieces. Or putting a shattered pane of glass back together.”

  My stomach t
wists, tensing with what I already know. What I’ve seen firsthand. “It’s impossible.”

  Julian nods. “Impossible, and hopeless. A doomed pursuit, one that will only break my boy’s heart.”

  “What makes you think I still care about his heart?” I sneer, tasting the bitter lie.

  Julian takes a wary step forward. “Go easy on him,” he murmurs.

  I snap back without blinking. “How dare you say that to me?”

  “Mare, do you remember what you found in those books?” he asks, pulling his robes tight around himself. His voice takes on a pleading edge. “Do you remember the words?”

  I shiver, and it isn’t because of the rain. “‘Not a god’s chosen, but a god’s cursed.’”

  “Yes,” he replies, nodding along with fervent motion. It reminds me of the way he used to teach, and I brace for a lecture. “This is not a new concept, Mare. Men and women have felt that way, in some capacity, for thousands of years. Chosen or cursed, fated or doomed. Since the dawn of sentience, I suspect, and long before Silver and Red or any type of ability. Did you know kings and politicians and rulers of every kind used to think they were blessed by the gods? Ordained to their place in the world? Many thought themselves chosen, but a few, of course, saw the duty as a curse.”

  Next to me, Kilorn puffs out a low scoff. I’m more obvious, rolling my eyes at Julian. When I shift, so does the collar of my shirt, sending a steady drip of rainwater down my spine. I clench my fists to keep from flinching.

  “Are you saying your nephew is cursed to his crown?” I sneer.

  Julian hardens, and I feel a tinge of regret for being so callous. He shakes his head at me, like I’m a child to be scolded. “Forced to choose between the woman he loves and what he thinks is right? What he thinks he must do, because of everything he’s been taught to be? What else would you call that?”

  “I call it an easy decision,” Kilorn growls.

  I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek, trying to gnaw back a dozen rude responses. “Did you really come here to defend what he did? Because I’m certainly not in the mood for it.”

  “No, of course not, Mare,” Julian replies. “But to explain, if I can.”