War Storm (Red Queen) - Victoria Aveyard Page 0,144
an open door bolted with rivets and a wheel lock. “The queens are waiting.”
“Tell them the king waits on deck,” I reply, turning aside to walk the edge of the ship.
This isn’t a pleasure cruise, and there aren’t many places to stand, let alone congregate. But I’d rather stay on deck than go below, to be trapped behind steel with a pair of nymphs. My Sentinels walk ahead of me, careful to keep in formation, as we climb a set of stairs to a landing overlooking the prow.
It doesn’t take the queens long to appear, moving in tandem.
Cenra wears a flowing uniform, dark blue with silver and gold chasing. A black sash divides her body from shoulder to hip, clasped in precious sapphire. In mourning still. I don’t think Mother wore her mourning clothes for more than a few days. Perhaps the Lakelander queen cared for her husband. How strange. She watches me, storm-eyed, her skin a cold bronze washed gold by the setting sun.
I feel as if I can read the battle on Iris. Her blue sleeves are charred to the elbow, the threads stained in two kinds of blood. And her long black hair is undone, still wet, brushed over one shoulder. A healer trails her, tentatively working on Iris’s arms as she walks, smoothing away burns and cuts.
Keeping her at an arm’s length has been a wise decision. I want little to do with my wife, who would probably prefer to kill me. But like Reds, she can be controlled by fear. And need. She has both in equal measure.
So does Cenra. It’s why she dared to leave her borders. She knows I hold her daughter in the palm of my hand. I don’t doubt she wants to extricate Iris from our marriage. But she needs this alliance as much as I do. Without me, she faces Cal and his band of traitors and criminals. A united front against her. I’m her shield, as she is mine.
“My queens,” I say, bowing slightly to them both as they approach.
Her daughter looks more like a soldier than a queen made and princess born.
The queen of the Lakelands dips into a shallow curtsy. Her sleeves brush the deck. “Your Majesty,” she replies.
I turn my face to the horizon. “Harbor Bay has fallen.”
“For now,” Cenra says, her voice offensively calm.
“Oh?” I sneer, raising an eyebrow “You think we can win it back? Tonight, perhaps.”
Again, she dips her head. “In time.”
I finish for her. “When the rest of your armada arrives.”
Queen Cenra grits her teeth. “Yes, of course,” she reluctantly grinds out. “But—”
“But?” I ask. The sea air feels cold on my bared teeth.
“We do have our own shores to guard,” she says. At her side, Iris looks smug, glad to let her mother fight this battle. “The Lakes must remain defended, especially from Montfort. They can cross Prairie and strike our western border easily. As can the Kingdom of the Rift on our east.”
I have to laugh. Sneering, I wave a hand at the horizon. Full of Samos traitors and Montfort usurpers, all beneath my brother’s idiot command. “Strike your border with what army? The one currently occupying my city?”
Cenra flares her nostrils and a flush heats her face, dusting over her cliff-like cheekbones. “Samos has the Nortan Air Fleet, one of the biggest on the continent. Not to mention Montfort’s own capabilities, whatever they are. Your brother has the advantage from the air, and he has the speed. Anywhere could be at risk of attack.” She speaks slowly, as if I am a child who needs his hand held through war. It tingles my fingers. “That cannot be ignored, Your Majesty.”
As if on wretched cue, a battalion of airjets races over the coast in formation. The distant scream of them reaches us slowly, a dull and stretching roar. I fold my arms over my chest, tucking away my hands lest they ignite.
“Bracken’s Air Fleet should be enough to hold them off,” I mutter, keeping my eyes on the jets as they move. Circling the city. Protective maneuvers.
Iris finally finds her voice. “The bulk of his fleet was cannibalized by the Montfort occupation. They can’t match what we’re up against.” She clearly delights in correcting me. I let her take this small comfort instead of losing my temper.
To look powerful is to be powerful. Mother said that too many times to count. Look calm, still, strong. Assured of yourself and your victory.