War Storm (Red Queen) - Victoria Aveyard Page 0,146
force me to go with him and deny me a few more hours with my mother. To my surprise, his petty rage and his political cunning do not extend so far. We are left alone on Mother’s flagship once more, given over to our own devices. With room to talk at length, and time to plan. Either he doesn’t see us as a threat, or he doesn’t care to fear us. I would venture the latter. He has more immediate enemies right now, and can spare little thought for his own wife.
The Swan is a warship, built for battle and speed. What pass for staterooms are spare and rigid, barely suited to Red servants. Still, Mother looks at home in them, equally at ease upon a bolted-down, narrow bed as on a jeweled throne. She isn’t a vain woman and carries none of the flawed, materialistic pride most Silvers have. That was Father’s domain. He preferred his finery, even on the battlefield. The thought sends a sharp stab of pain through me as I remember the last time I saw him alive. He was dashing in his armor, blue steel studded with sapphires, gray hair pulled back from his face. I suppose Salin Iral found some flaw, and exploited it well.
I pace to settle myself, moving back and forth before my mother, stopping occasionally to glare out the small porthole window. The sea outside has turned bloodred. A bad omen. I feel a familiar itch and make a mental note to pray later on, in the Swan’s small shrine. It might bring me a bit of peace.
“Be still. Conserve your strength,” Mother says, her Lakelander melodic and fluid. She sits with her legs drawn up under herself, and her long-sleeved coat is tossed aside, making her seem smaller than usual. It has little effect on her bearing, and I feel the weight of her eyes as I walk.
I am a queen too, and hesitate to follow her commands, if only to be contrarian. But she’s right. I eventually concede and take a seat on the bench on the opposite wall, an uncomfortable thing with thin padding and rivets fixed to the metal floor. My fingers curl around the edge of it, gripping tight. It vibrates with the reverberations of the ship engines, low and humming. I fixate on the sensation, reclaiming a bit of my calm.
“In your communications, you said there was something you couldn’t tell me,” Mother says. “Not until we were face-to-face.”
Steeling myself, I look up at her. “Yes.”
“Well.” She spreads her hands wide. “Here we are.”
My expression doesn’t change, but I feel my heartbeat quicken with nerves. I have to get up again and cross to the window, look out on the crimson waters. Even though my mother’s room is the safest place for me, it still feels dangerous to repeat what I know. Anyone could be listening, waiting to report back to Maven.
I put my back to her and force out the words. “We’re operating on the assumption that Maven will win.”
She scoffs behind me. “Win this war, you mean. But not the next.”
Our war for this country.
“Yes,” I reply. “But I think we’re on the losing side now. His brother’s coalition, that Montfort army . . .”
Her voice is level, devoid of judgment. “They frighten you.”
I spin around, scowling. “Of course they frighten me. And the Scarlet Guard too.”
“Reds?” Mother scoffs. She even rolls her eyes. I grit my teeth against a sigh of frustration. “They’re of little importance.”
“That kind of thinking will be our ruin, Mother,” I tell her as sternly as I can. One queen to another. Listen to me.
But she dismisses me with a dancing wave. As if I’m still a child pulling at her skirts. “I doubt that,” she says. “Silvers war, not Reds. They can’t possible hope to win against us.”
“And yet they keep doing it,” I answer flatly. I fought in Harbor Bay, against the Samos heirs and their battalion. Populated by Silvers and newbloods, mostly, but Reds too. Skilled snipers, trained fighters. Not to mention Norta’s own Red soldiers who turned. One of Maven’s great strengths lies in the loyalty of his people, but if it wanes? His Silvers will run and leave him empty.
Mother just clucks her tongue. My teeth clench with the sound. “The Reds keep winning because of a Silver alliance,” she says. “It will quickly crumble when one or both of the Calore brothers die.”
Wincing, I try another tactic. Instead of standing tall, I