War Storm (Red Queen) - Victoria Aveyard Page 0,152

He isn’t anywhere close to surrender.” I hold her livid stare, watching the storm in her eyes. I almost expect a peal of thunder overhead. “He just wants to see us. It’s his way.”

To my surprise, Julian takes a harried step toward her. His face pales, draining of color. “We should still try,” he pleads, exasperated.

She just blinks at him. “And torture ourselves? Give him the satisfaction?”

I respond before Julian can. “Of course we’re going to meet with him.” My voice deepens, heavier than before. “And of course he isn’t going to bargain.”

“So why do this?” Mare spits. I’m reminded of one of Larentia Viper’s snakes.

“Because,” I mutter, trying not to growl. To keep some semblance of control and dignity. “I want to see him too. I want to look into his eyes and know that my brother is gone forever.”

Neither Julian nor Mare, two of the most talkative people I know, has any response to give. She looks at her feet, brows knitting together, while a red bloom rises in her cheeks. It could be shame or frustration or both. Julian only goes paler, white as a sheet. He avoids my eyes.

“I have to know that whatever his mother did to him cannot be reversed. I need to be sure,” I murmur, moving closer to Mare. If only to calm myself. I’m suddenly aware of the cloying heat in the room, rising with my own temper. “Thank you, Julian,” I add, trying to dismiss him as gently as I can.

He takes the hint well. “Of course,” he replies, bowing his head. Even though I’ve repeatedly asked him never to bow to me. “Have you . . . ,” he adds, stumbling over the question. “Have you read what I gave you?”

The pain of another person lost flares in my chest. My eyes dart to the desk drawer again. Mare follows my line of sight, even though she doesn’t know what we’re talking about.

I’ll tell her later. At a better time.

“Some,” I manage to say.

Julian looks almost disappointed. “It isn’t easy.”

“No, it isn’t, Julian.” I’m done talking about this. “And if you could . . . ,” I mumble, gesturing feebly between myself and Mare to change the subject. “You know.”

Mare snickers slightly, but Julian is happy to comply. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says with an easy grin.

As he goes, stepping back out into the salon, I follow his retreating figure. When he passes the painting, propped up against a chair for now, he slows. But he doesn’t stop. He only trails a hand along the frame, unable to spare a glance for his sister.

They have a similar look, based on the portrait. The thin chestnut hair and inquisitive eyes. She was simple, an easy beauty. The kind most overlook. I don’t have much of her in me, if anything at all.

I wish I did.

The door swings shut, removing her and my uncle from sight.

Slowly, smooth fingers weave into mine, taking my hand.

“He can’t be fixed,” Mare breathes, resting her chin against my shoulder. Not quite on top of it—she can’t reach—but now isn’t the time to tease her. Instead I lean down into her grasp, making it easier on us both.

“I need to see for myself. If I’m going to give up on him—”

Her grip tightens sharply. “There’s no giving up against the impossible.”

The impossible. Part of me still refuses to believe that. My brother is not a lost cause. He can’t be. I won’t allow it. “Davidson tried,” I whisper. Reluctant to say the words out loud. But I have to. I have to make them real. “He searched. There are no newblood whispers.”

She takes a long, trailing breath. “And that’s probably for the best,” she says after a moment. “In the grand scheme of the world.”

It stings to know she’s right.

Methodic, she puts her hands on my shoulders, steering me away from the desk. Away from the memory sitting in a drawer. “You should sleep,” she says firmly, pushing at the bed. “Maven wears exhaustion better than you do.”

I stifle a yawn, eager to follow her commands. With a sigh, I slip between the blankets. When my head hits the pillow, I almost drop asleep instantly. “Will you stay?” I mumble, watching her through slitted eyes.

She crawls over to me in reply, kicking off her boots as she goes. She worms her way under the silk. I watch her, smirking, and she shrugs. “Everyone will know anyway.”

Without thought, I take her hand, knitting