War Storm

“If you want to send Maven a message, use the proper channels,” I toss at her, throwing up a brazen wall of attitude.

She scoffs, looking disgusted. “This isn’t a message for that wretched brat.”

“Your grandson,” I remind her.

She scowls but carries on. “I want you to pass along word to your mother. The way you usually do.”

Sniffing, I cross my arms. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Anabel rolls her eyes and exchanges glances with Julian. He is far more difficult to read, his expression still and studious.

“I don’t need to sing a confession out of you,” Julian says plainly, “but you know I can if need be.”

I say nothing. Do nothing. My face is still as the surface of an undisturbed pond. No confirmation either way.

The Lerolan woman barrels on anyway, looking down her nose at me. “Tell the queen of the Lakelands that the rightful king of Norta has no quarrel with her. And every intention of preserving the peace his usurper negotiated. That is, of course, if assurances can be made.”

“You want us to stand down?” I sneer at her. She regards me with equal disdain. “An impossible thing.”

“No, not stand down. Appearances must be maintained, of course,” Anabel says, splaying those wretched fingers. I watch each one as they drum a rhythm against her leg. “But I’m sure we can find some compromise other than open war between our two sovereigns.”

Once more, I glance at my guards behind glass, bewitched into ignoring us. The road through the window is unfamiliar. To me, at least. I grit my teeth. “He is no sovereign. Our alliance is not with Tiberias Calore, a traitor to his kingdom and his kind.”

The uncle tips his head to one side, surveying me like a painting. He blinks slowly. “Your husband is better at that lie than you are.”

Husband. The reminder of my place here and my position at Maven’s side is an easy jab, but it stings nonetheless. “Lie or not, the people believe it,” I hiss back at him. “Red and Silver, all over this country, they believe what they are told. And they will fight for the person they think Maven is.”

To my surprise, Anabel nods. Her face falls, a picture of concern. “That’s what we’re afraid of. And that’s why we’re here. To prevent as much bloodshed as we can.”

“Anabel Lerolan, you should have been an actress,” I chuckle darkly.

She just waves a hand, glancing out the window. Her lips curve into the ghost of a smile. “I was a great patroness of the arts, a lifetime ago.” For some reason, Julian glances at her, his eyes softening. She glances back, oddly reserved. Something passes between them. An unspoken word or a shared memory, perhaps.

Anabel recovers first, looking back to me. Her voice is stern, and I feel scolded without a reprimand. “When Tiberias wins the throne, he is prepared to offer land and money in exchange for Lakelander cooperation.”

I raise one eyebrow, the only indication of any interest. After all, who knows where this might lead. Keeping options open is smart.

She knows what I’m doing and pushes on. “The entirety of the Choke ceded over.”

Again I have to laugh, tossing back my head. The moisture against my skin, an almost shield, prickles against me. “Useless land,” I scoff. “A minefield. You’re gifting us with a chore.”

The old queen pretends not to hear me. “And a betrothal to Tiberias’s heir, a child of Calore and Samos. Twice royal, an heir to two kingdoms.”

For appearance sake, I keep laughing. But my stomach churns with revulsion. She’s trying to barter with an unborn child. Either mine or Tiora’s. Our own flesh and blood. Consent be damned. At the very least, I agreed to my own arrangement. But doing the same to a baby? Disgusting.

“And what about your Red dogs?” I ask, leaning forward into her territory. It’s my turn to push back. “The Scarlet Guard? The blood freaks of Montfort? Mare Barrow and her kind?”

Julian answers before Anabel can. She doesn’t seem pleased—either by his manner or by his intent. “You mean the next step in our evolution?” he says. “It isn’t wise to fear the future, Your Majesty. That never ends well.”

“Futures can be prevented, Lord Jacos.” I think of the other newblood pet Maven lost, the one who could see too far into the future. I only heard rumors of him, but the rumors were enough. He could see every path as it changed. Even fates that would never come to fruition.

“Not this one.” Julian shakes his head. I can’t tell if he’s happy or regretful. The man is an odd, sad soul. Tormented by a woman, no doubt, as most men like him are. “Not now.”

I look between them and do not like what I see. Each could kill me if they wanted, and despite all my training, I would go down easily. But if they were here to murder me, they would have done it already.

“You’ve lost Piedmont, so you want the Lakelands,” I mutter. “You know you can’t win without one of us doing your dirty work.”

“We do enough dirty work of our own, Princess,” Anabel replies, her voice low and annoyed. She puts emphasis on my born title. She doesn’t recognize Maven as king, so she wouldn’t see me as a queen.

“You put so much stock in your Montfort shield,” I tell them both. “Are their newbloods really enough to outweigh the might of our three nations?”

Julian folds his hands in his lap, thoughtful. He is more difficult to unsettle. “I think we all know that the full might of the Lakelands will never come to the aid of Maven Calore.”

That smarts a little. I was stupid before, signaling what I did to Mare through that newblood in the Piedmont prison. For no reason other than to prove I could. Clearly she passed on the message. Or maybe we’re simply that transparent. I bristle, firing back, “Just as we all know your Red alliance will not last. That it is another powder keg close to open flame.”

This does make Julian uncomfortable. He shifts, thrown off balance, and a slight gray tinge colors his cheeks. Not so with Anabel. She thrives, grinning, as if I’ve just served her a delicious meal. Even though I don’t know how, I feel as if I’ve misstepped.

The woman puts out her hand and I jerk back, out of her grasp. She seems amused by my fear. “There is something else we can offer.”

Julian’s blush deepens and he frowns, dropping his gaze. Breaking eye contact with me. Essentially putting down his only weapon. I could move against him right now and get the upper hand. But Anabel is too close, too lethal.

And, I have to admit, I want to know what the last piece of her bargain is.

“Go on,” I breathe, almost inaudible.

Her smile is wide, pointed. And while Maven is his mother’s son, I see some of him in his grandmother. In the sharp grin, and the scheming mind. “Salin Iral put a knife in your father’s back,” she says. I flinch at the memory. “I assume you would like to have a conversation with him?”

I respond without thinking. A mistake. “I can think of some things I would like to say, yes,” I mutter quickly. The phantom taste of blood fills my mouth.

“I’m sure you know why it was done,” she says.

Pain pricks at my edges. My father’s death is still an open, oozing wound. “Because this is war. People die.”

Her dark eyes, like molten bronze, widen. “Because Salin Iral did as he was commanded to do.”