it. I told Iris that she can avoid the same fate.”
General Swan, cool as ever, surveys the former princess with narrowed eyes. “You have no right, no power to promise her anything. Premier, get your people in order.”
I expect Evangeline to cut the general for speaking so sharply. To my surprise, Evangeline shrugs her off. The mountains have been good for her. “I did nothing of the sort.”
“You told her to bend instead of break,” Cal muses.
Her daggered smile takes on a cold, bitter edge. “Yes, I did.”
The thoughts come as fast as I can speak them, puzzling out Evangeline’s plan. “Make Reds equal to Silvers, all the same subjects to the Lakelander crown,” I murmur, seeing the logic alongside the danger—and the defeat.
“With some representation in government thrown in for good measure,” she says, nodding at me. “I can’t speak for her mother, but Iris seems receptive. She’s seen what’s happening in the Nortan States. If the Lakelands must change, she’d rather do it in a slow slide rather than a plummet.”
Cal shakes his head, his dark brow deeply furrowed. “Why would she even entertain the idea? The Lakelands are strong, far stronger than the States.”
“Yes, but they aren’t stronger than this alliance, or at least they know it will be a hell of a fight.” She looks around the room, as if to marvel at our number. Our strength and power. “They certainly aren’t stronger than their own Reds, millions of them. If that fuse is ever truly lit, they’ll lose their country too.” Her eyes land on the Scarlet Guard. The generals stare back, and I try to picture what Evangeline sees. Terrorists to one, freedom fighters to another. Rebels and revolutionaries with a real chance at victory. Desperate people willing to do whatever the cause requires. “It’s a risk to keep fighting us, a real risk. Iris is clear-sighted enough to see that.”
“Or she’s simply stringing you along.” Farley keeps herself in check this time, her voice measured and even. Beneath the table, her fingers curl. “Lulling us into a false sense of security before another attack. Our soldiers have been fighting tooth and nail along the river borders and in the north. If their princess has any hesitation, they certainly don’t show it.”
“I don’t expect you to trust Silvers, General,” Evangeline says slowly, and for once, her familiar bite is gone. “I assume you never will. But you can at least trust our talent for survival. It’s something most of us do very well.”
And just like that, the bite returns, whether she knows it or not. I feel it deeply, as if jaws have closed around my throat. Most of us. Many Silvers have died since all this began. Her father, Cal’s father—and Maven too.
One glance at Cal tells me I’m not alone.
He’s trying to forget just as I am.
And failing just as I am.
Is that why he never said a word?
I am many things, many people. And I am also the killer of Maven Calore. Is that what rises to the surface when he looks at me? Does he see his brother, dying with his eyes open? Does he see me with silver blood all over my hands?
There’s only one way to know.
No matter how much it frightens me, no matter the pain it may cause, I have to speak to him. And soon.
Thanks to Cal veering us so quickly off course, the delegations abandon the agenda entirely and spend the next two hours bickering back and forth over every point that comes our way. I should have expected he would want to dive in as soon as possible, and rile everyone up in the meantime. We find ourselves drifting from subject to subject, each one branching into another. If the Nortan military needs to be fed, who will be rationed? How are the farmers paid? What can be traded through the rivermen? What can be bought? Why are the transport fees so high? Most of the people I know in the room are warriors only, with little talent for economics or supply. Julian and Ada do most of the talking for the Nortan States, while Davidson, Radis, and a few of his government ministers serve for Montfort. General Drummer, who coordinates with the Whistle network for the Guard, has almost too much to say about shipping routes and old smuggler trails still in use. Farley hunches into an uncomfortable position for the duration, if only to keep herself from falling asleep. She interjects