Broken Throne - Victoria Aveyard Page 0,145

going to be staying on a few days after his wedding,” she says to her reflection, though the words are meant for me.

I’ve been ready for half an hour and I’m almost asleep on the couch when she speaks. Her voice jolts me back, and I sit up, sharp as ever in my plain black suit. Only the badge on my collar, the joined circles in red, white, and silver, adorns my clothing.

“Yes,” I reply after gathering myself. Her eyes follow me in the mirror. “A few weeks, I think. Then I’ll head back to Archeon and return to work.”

My body tightens, bracing for a scathing remark or scolding refusal. Instead Nanabel just fixes her hair, smoothing her gray locks back behind her ears. She draws out her response, making me wait.

“Good,” she finally says, and I nearly fall out of my seat. “You’ve earned a break.”

“I—I suppose so, yeah,” I sputter, surprised. She knows who I’m staying with, and why. Mare Barrow isn’t exactly her favorite person in the world. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” she says. My grandmother grins as she turns around, amused by my shock. “You might not think it, but I’m proud of you, Cal. What you’ve done, what you continue to do. You’re a young man, and you’ve accomplished so much with your time.” Her footsteps are soft, muffled by the rich carpets of the salon. The couch sinks as she sits next to me, one lined hand taking mine. “You’re strong, my dear boy. Too strong. You deserve the happy moments when you find them. And all I want, beyond anything else, a crown or a country, is for you to live.”

My throat threatens to close, and I have to look away from her, if only to hide the sharp sting of tears. She clenches her jaw, just as uncomfortable with emotion.

“Thank you,” I force out, focusing on a spot in the carpet. As much as I’ve wanted those words from her, they aren’t easy to hear or accept.

Her grip on my fingers tightens, forcing me to look at her. We have the same eyes, she and I. Burning bronze. “I’ve lived through the rule of four kings. I know greatness—and sacrifice—when I see it,” she says. “Your father would be proud of you. In the end.”

When Julian and Sara finally emerge, they are good enough to ignore my red-rimmed eyes.

With the delegations out of their uniforms and in finery, it’s easy to pretend this is just a party. Not simply another meeting veiled by silk, liquor, and roving plates of stupidly tiny foods. At least Montfort isn’t as rigid as old Norta or its court. I don’t have to wait to be announced, and I descend into the grand ballroom with the rest of the delegates, all of us moving like a school of jewel-colored fish.

The chamber can’t compare to Whitefire, or even the Hall of the Sun. Royals have the edge when it comes to splendor, but I hardly mind. Instead of white molding and gilt frames, the long ballroom has polished timber arches and brilliant cut-glass windows looking out on the valley as night falls. The fire of sunset sparkles off mirrors that make the space seem grander and bigger. Overhead, cast-iron hoops are set with a thousand candles, flickering with golden flame. No less than six fireplaces, all of them rough stone, throw off pleasant heat to warm the expansive room. I feel each one at the edge of my perception, and I look across the floor, searching for familiar faces.

Mare’s brothers and Kilorn would be easiest to spot, tall as they are. They aren’t here yet, so likely she isn’t either. The premier is, of course, greeting delegates as they filter into the room. Carmadon stands proudly at his side, waving over servants as they pass. I watch as he nearly force-feeds one of the Nortan nobles a tiny portion of salmon.

Evangeline must have the night off from her bodyguard duties. She has Elane hanging on her arm, the two of them hovering near the string band that’s still warming up. When the violinist raises his instrument, the pair of them begin to dance in perfect rhythm. As always, Evangeline manages to sparkle in the most threatening way. Her gown is beaten bronze, sculpted to her form but somehow fluid. The color looks good on her, warming up her otherwise cold appearance. Elane, on the other hand, seems to be playing the part of a winter queen. Her red hair flames

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