each other, dropping their voices so as not to be heard. I hope she tells him about her message to Iris. Not to get his permission, but to show her intentions. I have no doubt the letter will be intercepted and read, and I’d rather the premier know what Eve is up to beforehand.
Ptolemus and Wren are brief with Carmadon. He’s too talkative for their taste, but I quite enjoy his company. I grin when he takes my hands, surveying my brightly colored clothing with a genuine smile.
“You look like a winter sunrise, Lady Haven,” he says, kissing me on one cheek.
“Well, one of us had to bring a little color,” I reply, glancing at his white suit.
He wags a dark-skinned finger at me in jest. “You must be certain to visit us, after all this is done and you’re settled in the city.”
“Of course. At the premier’s pleasure,” I add, sweeping into the curtsy I’ve performed since I could walk.
“Aren’t we all,” he mutters under his breath. He even winks, up to his old tricks. But there’s something beneath his usual jest. A deeper acknowledgment.
I wonder if he feels the same kinship I do. I’m a child compared to him—Carmadon is easily three decades older than me—but we were both born to different worlds from the one we live in now. And we both love people the old world told us we couldn’t. Great people, who cast long shadows. We’re both content, if not happy, to stand in their darkness.
That’s what Evangeline is. Greatness. Strong, proud—ruthless, even. And undeniably great. Not just on the battlefield, where she is formidable, to say the least. The letter is proof of that. Even in her weakest moments, I see it. The ability to push forward and through where most would admit defeat. Not for the first time today, I find myself staring at her, still locked in whispered conversation with the premier. Carmadon follows my gaze, but his eyes flicker to his husband quickly. We watch them both, staring down a winding path with no end in sight.
Where will these people lead us?
It doesn’t matter.
I’ll always go.
The premier merely takes my hand when I pass him. We exchange nods of greeting, but little more.
“We’ll talk soon,” he says quietly, and his meaning is clear.
The offer of work.
Evangeline doesn’t miss it, though she’s already climbing the stairs into the jet. She freezes momentarily, her back stiffening. Her metallic cape ripples like the surface of a disturbed pond.
“Soon,” I echo to the premier, if only to be polite.
Truthfully, I wish I could shove him for being so blatant.
The last thing I need is any more tension with Evangeline. This is going to be difficult enough.
FIVE
Evangeline
I should sleep.
The flight to the Rift is several hours long, over the flat, empty fields of Prairie and then the winding borders of the Disputed Lands. It’s too dark to see anything out the jet window, and even the stars seem distant and dull. I won’t be able to tell when we cross into my father’s former kingdom, the land I grew up in. It’s been months since I last set foot in Ridge House, my family’s ancestral home. Before my father died, before Archeon fell. Before I was free to love who I chose and go where I wanted. The Ridge was beautiful, a sanctuary away from the razor-edged life of court, but it was a prison too.
Elane dozes on my shoulder, her cheek pressed against the soft leather of my coat. When she’s asleep, her abilities disappear, leaving her bare of her usual glow. I don’t mind. She looks lovely either way. And I like being able to glimpse behind her shield of soft light and perfect complexion. She’s vulnerable in those moments, and it means she feels safe.
That’s why I’m doing this, more than any other reason. To keep her safe.
And to bargain.
We’ll talk soon.
The premier’s words still echo.
I should focus on my speech, the broadcast, and denying my blood tomorrow, but I can’t get rid of Davidson’s words.
When Elane told me about his offer, I thought about packing our things. We wouldn’t need much. Fine gowns and pretty clothing have no use in the wilderness. All I needed was a good stockpile of metals, some training gear. Rations, of course. I still think about it sometimes, ticking off the list of what to bring if we have to run. A force of habit, I think, after the months of war and risk. It isn’t in