War Storm (Red Queen) - Victoria Aveyard Page 0,151

a step forward, already talking, a faded sweater tossed over his nightclothes. The page in his hand has very little writing on it. “We’ve received Maven’s reply,” he says. He falters only a little at the sight of Mare, doing his best not to let her break his momentum. He clears his throat a little and forces a casual smile. “Good evening, Mare.”

“Good morning would be more appropriate, Julian,” she says, dipping her head in greeting. Unwilling to give anything more or anything less. But our appearance says enough. Her with still-disheveled hair, and me in nothing but a robe. Julian reads us as easily as he does his books. At least he has the good sense not to comment, or even smirk.

I prod him farther into the room. “What did Maven say?”

“As we suspected,” he replies, recovering, “he agreed. Dawn.”

Already I curse my decision to meet so early. I’d much rather do this on a full night’s rest. But it’s best to get it over with as soon as possible.

“Where?” Mare’s voice is ragged.

Julian looks between us. “They’ve chosen Province Island. Not exactly neutral, but most of the islanders have gone, fleeing the war.”

I fold my arms across my chest and try to picture the island in question. It comes to me quickly. Province is the northernmost point of land in the Bahrn Islands, sprinkled in a hook off the coast. It’s a little like Tuck, the Scarlet Guard base. Home to little more than disappearing dunes and sea grass. “It’s Rhambos territory. And small enough. If anything, this is in our favor.”

At the desk, Mare scoffs. She surveys Julian and me like children. “Unless House Rhambos decides to betray you.”

“I’d be inclined to agree, if his family didn’t hang in the balance. Or his own life. Lord Rhambos won’t risk either,” I tell her. “Province Island will do.”

She doesn’t look convinced, but nods anyway. Her eyes pass to Julian, then to the single paper in his hand. The copy of Maven’s response. “Did he have any other demands?”

Julian shakes his head. “None.”

“May I see it?” She holds out a hand in gentle request, palm turned upward. Julian is happy to oblige.

For a second, she hesitates, gripping the paper between her thumb and forefinger like something unclean. He used to write her letters, back when we were operating from the Notch, collecting newbloods. He used to leave them on the corpses of the ones he got to first. Each one begged her to return, promising to stop the bloodshed if she went back. Eventually, he got his wish. I would take the paper from her, protect her from the pain his words bring, but she doesn’t need me to shield her. She’s faced worse without me.

Finally, she blinks, steeling herself to read Maven’s response. Her frown only deepens as her eyes scan the words, over and over again.

I glance at Julian. “Has Nanabel been informed?”

“She has,” he says.

“Does she have thoughts?”

“When doesn’t she?”

I offer him a wry smile. “True.” Julian and my grandmother aren’t exactly the closest of friends, but they’re certainly allies, at least where I am concerned. Their shared history, my mother, is enough for them both. At the thought, I feel a sudden cold, and I can’t help but look at my desk drawer. It’s firmly shut, the book out of sight.

But never far from my mind.

Ocean Hill was my mother’s favorite palace, and I see her everywhere, even though I have no memory of her face. Only what I’ve seen in pictures or paintings. I’ve asked for some of her portraits to be rehung, at least in the salon outside my bedroom. Her colors were gold, more vibrant than the yellows Julian wears now. Fitting a queen born of a High House, though she was far from the norm.

She slept in this room. She breathed this air. She was alive here.

Julian’s voice snaps me out of the quicksand of my mother’s memory. “Queen Anabel thinks you should send someone in your stead,” he says.

A corner of my mouth tugs into a half smile. “I’m sure she suggested herself.”

His face mirrors mine. “She did.”

“I’ll thank her for the suggestion and politely decline. If anyone is going to face him, it should be me. I’ll present our terms—”

“Maven won’t bargain.” Mare’s fist closes, crumpling a bit of the communication. Her gaze feels like her kiss. Devouring.

“He agreed to the meeting—” Julian begins, but she cuts him off.

“And that’s all he’ll agree to. This isn’t to discuss terms.