War Storm (Red Queen) - Victoria Aveyard Page 0,14

hope for. After all, didn’t I first meet Tiberias in a dark tavern, where he pretended to be someone else so he could see what the world really looked like? See what should change?

Davidson leans back, clearly finished with me. I do the same. “Consider your request granted,” he says. “And consider yourself lucky we have to return to Piedmont first anyway, or else I might not be so amenable to retrieving a metric ton of Barrows.”

He almost winks.

I almost smile.

Halfway to the barracks, I realize I’m being followed through the fortress city. Footsteps trail close behind, nimble and even along the winding street. The fluorescent lights cast two shadows, mine and someone else’s. I tense, uneasy, but not afraid. Corvium is crawling with coalition soldiers, and if any of them are stupid enough to wish me harm, they’re welcome to try. I can protect myself. Sparks ripple beneath my skin, easy to unleash. Ready to loose.

I turn on my boot heel, hoping to catch whoever it is off guard. It doesn’t work.

Evangeline stops smoothly, expectant, her arms crossed and dark, perfect eyebrows raised. She still wears her opulent armor, the kind better suited to a king’s court than a battleground. No crown, though. She used to spend her free time fashioning tiaras and circlets from whatever metal she could get her hands on. But now, when she has every right to wear one, her head is bare.

“I trailed you through two sectors of the city, Barrow,” she says, tossing back her head. “I thought you were supposed to be some kind of thief?”

My incessant laugh from earlier tugs again, and I can’t help but smirk, huffing out a breath. Her bite is familiar, and anything familiar feels like comfort right now. “Never change, Evangeline.”

Her smile flashes, quick as a knife. “Of course not. Why change perfection?”

“Well, please don’t let me keep you from your perfect life, Your Highness,” I tell her. Still smirking, I step aside, clearing the way for her. Calling her bluff. Evangeline Samos did not seek me out to trade insults. Her behavior in the council chamber made her motives very clear.

She blinks, and a bit of her boldness melts. “Mare,” she says, softer now. Pleading. But her pride won’t let her do much more than almost beg. That damn Silver spine. She doesn’t know how to bend. No one ever taught her, and no one would ever allow her to try.

Despite everything between us, a sliver of pity arrows through my heart. Evangeline was raised in the Silver court, born to scheme and climb, made to fight as fiercely as she guards her mind. But her mask is far from perfect, especially compared to Maven’s. After months of reading shadows in his eyes, I see Evangeline’s thoughts reflected in hers clear as daylight. Pain radiates from her. Longing. She has the feel of a predator in a cage with no chance of escaping. Part of me wants to leave her trapped. Let her realize exactly what kind of life she used to want. I want to believe I’m not that cruel. And I’m not stupid. Evangeline Samos would make a powerful ally, and if I have to buy her with whatever she wants, so be it.

“If you’re looking for sympathy, keep walking,” I mutter, gesturing again to the empty street. A useless threat, but she bristles anyway. Her eyes, already black, darken. The gibe works, pushing her into a corner, forcing her to speak.

“I don’t want an inch of it from you,” Evangeline snaps. The needle edges of her armor sharpen with her anger. “And I know I don’t deserve it either.”

“Definitely not,” I snort. “So you want help, then? An excuse not to go to Montfort with the rest of our happy crew?”

Evangeline’s face twists into another biting smile. “I’m hardly idiotic enough to owe you anything. No, I’m talking about a trade.”

I keep my face still, my eyes locked on hers. I channel a little bit of Davidson’s serene, unfathomable blankness. “I thought you might be.”

“Good to know you aren’t as dense as people seem to think.”

“So, what do you have?” I ask, wanting to hurry this along. We’re leaving for Piedmont, and then Montfort, tomorrow. We don’t have the luxury of our usual barbs. “What do you want?”

The words stick in her throat. She drags her teeth across her lips, scraping away a bit of the purple stain. In the unforgiving light of the Corvium street, her makeup seems harsh, more like