War Storm

“Premier, what would his punishment be in your country?” he asks, his face open and inviting. It’s a brilliant show of solidarity, all part of the image Cal is trying to build for himself. A king who unites, rather than destroys. A Silver who looks to Reds for counsel, disdaining the divisions of blood.

It already has consequences.

On his throne, Volo curls his lip, rustling in his robe like an annoyed bird puffing up his feathers. Maven is quick to notice.

“You’re going to allow that, Volo?” he croons. “Standing second to a Red?” His laughter echoes, a sharp sound to cut glass. “How far the House of Samos has fallen.”

Like Cal, Volo has little desire to sink to Maven’s taunting. He stills, crossing his chrome-covered arms over his chest. “I still have a crown, Maven. Do you?”

Maven only sneers in response, one corner of his mouth twitching.

“Execution,” Premier Davidson says firmly, leaning forward. He plants his elbows on the arms of his chair as he shifts for a better view of the fallen, false king. “We punish treason with execution.”

Cal’s eyelids barely flicker. He turns again, leaning to Volo. “Your Majesty, how would you deal with him in the Rift?”

Volo is quick to respond, teeth clicking. Like Evangeline’s, his eyeteeth are capped in pointed silver. “Execution.”

Cal nods. “General Farley?”

“Execution,” she replies, raising her chin.

On the floor below, Maven doesn’t seem bothered by the sentence. Or even surprised. He spares little attention for the premier, or Farley, or Volo. Or even me. Whatever snake coils in his brain has eyes for one person. He stares up at his brother, unblinking, his chest rising and falling in tiny puffs of breath. I forgot how similar they are, even as half brothers. Not just in coloring, but in their fire. Determined, driven. Constructions of their parents. Cal is built from his father’s dreams, and Maven from his mother’s nightmares.

“And what will you do, Cal?” he asks, his voice so low and quiet I almost can’t hear him.

Cal doesn’t hesitate. “Exactly what you tried to do to me.”

Maven almost laughs again. Instead he chuffs out a short breath. “So I’ll die in the arena?”

“No,” the king replies, shaking his head. “I don’t intend to watch you spend your last moments embarrassing yourself.” It isn’t a joke. Maven isn’t a fighter. He would barely last a minute in the arena. But he doesn’t deserve what Cal is offering, a little piece of mercy in otherwise iron judgment. “It will be quick. I can give you that.”

“How noble of you, Tiberias.” Maven scowls. Then he thinks better of it, his face clearing. He widens his eyes, and I’m reminded of a dog begging for scraps. A puppy who knows exactly what he’s doing. “Can I make a request?”

At that Cal nearly rolls his eyes. He fixes Maven with a look of pure derision. “You can try.”

“Bury me with my mother.”

The request drives a hole through me.

I think I hear someone on the other side of the council gasp, perhaps Anabel. When I glance at her, she has a hand over her mouth, but her eyes are stoically dry. Cal has gone bone white, both hands clawed to the arms of his throne. His gaze wavers, falling for a moment, before he forces himself to look back at his brother.

I don’t know where Elara’s body ended up. Last I knew, it was with the Guard on Tuck Island, the island we abandoned.

An island of corpses. My brother’s, and hers.

“That can be arranged,” Cal finally murmurs.

But Maven isn’t finished. He takes a step, not forward but to the side. In my direction. The full force of his gaze almost knocks me out of my seat. “And I want to die the way my mother did,” he says plainly, as if asking for an extra blanket.

Again I feel too stunned to think. All I can do is keep my jaw locked in place so my mouth won’t gape open in shock.

“Ripped apart by your fury,” he pushes on, his eyes horrible, unforgettable, searing into me. The brand on my collarbone seems to burn. “And your hatred.”

Inside me, the monster roars. I’ll do it right now. I helped start this. It’s only fair I get to end it. Like Cal’s, my fingers curl on my chair, nails digging into wood. I try to anchor myself, pull inward, keep the lightning at bay, but I feel as if I could spark a storm in a single heartbeat. I won’t give him the satisfaction of his last seduction. That’s what this is. One more drop of poison, a last curl of rot, his final corruption of who I was before he got his claws into me. He knows some piece of me, a large piece, wants this. And he knows it will ruin whatever I managed to salvage from his prison and the torture of his love.

Kill him, Mare Barrow. Be done with him for good.

He stares up at me, waiting for my decision. So do the others. Even Cal, a king, won’t say a word. As before, he’s letting me choose which path I want to take.

For some reason, I think of Jon. The seer who told my fate. To rise, and rise alone. I wonder if that fate has already changed, or if this is how I change it.

Slowly, I shake my head.

“I won’t be your ending, Maven. And you won’t be mine.”

On the floor, Maven seems to tighten. His eyes flicker back and forth, searching my face from eyes to lips. He stays quiet for a long minute, as if waiting for me to change my mind. I stand firm, teeth clenched to stop myself from wavering. Lightning has no mercy, I said once. But lightning is only one part of me. It doesn’t rule me.

I rule it.

“Fine,” Maven forces out, angry to be denied. I feel a tiny bloom of triumph, a counterbalance to the monster in me. He turns away, spinning on his heels to face Cal again. “Then a bullet. A sword. Cut my head off if you want. I have little interest in what you choose.”

Cal is steadily losing his grip, the mask of a king sliding as the ordeal wears on him. I half expect him to get up and walk out of the room. But that isn’t like him. No surrender, no show of weakness. That has been drilled into his bones since childhood. “It will be quick” is all he says again, hesitant.

“You already said that,” Maven snaps like a petulant child. Silver flushes high on his cheeks, twin spots of darkening color.

Anabel clasps her hands. She looks at the brothers, weighing them against each other. The tension between them jumps and crackles like a live wire, and I wonder if Maven is simply trying to goad Cal into killing him outright. Since he couldn’t do it to me.

“Guards, we’re finished with the traitor,” she says, looking imperious.

Taking the decision out of Cal’s hands entirely.

In spite of myself, I glance at Maven, and he’s already looking at me.

Cal can’t make choices.

He told me that so many times, and I learned the truth of it in many painful ways. Even with Maven removed, Cal is still reluctant, unable to make up his mind. Maven told me Cal would make a poor king because of it. Or at the very least another king on a leash, reliant on someone else to help him along. I have to agree. The younger Calore might be a beast, but he isn’t a fool.

The Lerolan guards turn him forcibly, seizing his shoulders to push him out of the chamber. I expect Julian to go with him, but he stays, instead taking a place behind the throne. He folds his hands, thoughtful and silent. Footsteps are the only sound in the room, echoing with such finality as Maven is led away. I wonder if I’ll ever see him again. If I’ll have the stomach to watch him die.