War Storm (Red Queen) - Victoria Aveyard Page 0,165
my direction and I incline my head. But his eyes darken as they sweep past me, fixing on Davidson. No amount of my posturing can distract him fully from his hatred of that newblood.
It doesn’t bother the premier. He remains inscrutable, standing with smooth grace. “This was interesting, to say the least,” he mutters with an empty smile.
“Indeed,” I hear myself answer.
The rest of us rustle out of our chairs in a swirl of bright color and gleaming armor, until only Maven remains, firmly planted in his seat. Staring.
Mare artfully avoids his gaze, weaving around Farley to take Cal’s arm. The sight enrages the false king, who fumes. I almost expect smoke to rise off him. If not for the Silent Stone, it very well might.
“Until we meet again,” Cal says over his shoulder.
Something about the words sets Maven off, and he slams his hands down on the arms of his chair before storming away, turning on us all. His cloak, ink black, streams out behind him. I’m reminded of a toddler kicking up a tantrum. A very dangerous toddler.
The Lakelander queens and the Piedmont prince follow him almost reluctantly. Cal’s right. They’ll abandon Maven’s cause if the scales tip against him, if it becomes clear he can’t win the war. But will they shift to our side? I don’t think so. They’ll sit back and wait to strike. I find myself almost envying the Scarlet Guard and Montfort. Their alliance, at least, seems rooted in true loyalty and a common goal. Not like us Silvers. We might speak of peace, but peace isn’t what we’re built for. We fight always, in throne rooms or battlefields or even across the table of a family dinner. It’s what we are cursed to do.
I’m eager to get out of the circle of Silent Stone and breathe free air again. With a tug, I pull Ptolemus along with me, toward the winding path back to our dropjets. I’m careful to keep him close with General Farley so nearby, haunting his steps. A rat stalking a wolf, waiting for the sliver of opportunity.
As we get free of the Silent Stone, the cool relief of my ability comes rushing back. The pieces of metal in my jewelry, my hair, my teeth, tucked away all over my body, tingle against my perception. I reach for the medals on Maven, feeling them as they fade away. He’s truly leaving. Escaping the island as we are.
The war is far from won, and if my guesses are correct, both sides are evenly matched at present. Perfectly balanced. This could drag on for years. Leaving me unwed, a princess only, still free of a queen’s leash. I could go home for a few weeks, leave when Father gets here. Let him handle the chaos. Maybe steal away with Elane to some quiet place. The thought curls my toes.
It almost distracts me from the water seeping up beneath my feet, bleeding through the shallow soil.
At the edge of my perception, Maven’s medals stop moving.
“Tolly,” I whisper, reaching out to grab his arm.
His eyes widen as he looks over the flooding ground.
So does the rest of our party, lifting their feet, sloshing toward each other. Farley and her officers quickly reclaim their discarded guns, some of them now dripping wet. They react quickly, taking defensive positions, training their sights on the tree line and the platform in the distance.
Mare shifts, putting herself in front of Cal. He looks around, terrified, momentarily stunned by the water slowly rising around us. One of her hands sparks.
“Careful,” I bark, jumping backward, dragging Tolly along with me onto drier ground. “You’ll fry us all.”
She regards me coldly. “Only if I want to.”
“The nymphs?” Farley growls, gun against her cheek, one eye pressed to the sight. “I see movement from their direction. Their blue dresses, the Sentinels . . .” She trails off.
I draw a knife from Tolly’s sash, letting it spin in my hand. “And?”
“And it’s nothing to trouble ourselves with,” Anabel says, her voice light and dismissive. “Come, let’s return to our jets?”
I’m not the only one who stares at her, jaw gaping open.
Farley speaks first, still in position. “Either this entire island is sinking or we’re about to face an attack—”
“Nonsense,” Anabel sniffs. “It’s nothing of the sort.”
“Then what is it?” Cal grits out. “What have you done?”
Somehow Anabel gives way to Julian Jacos. The older man offers a thin, empty smile. “We’ve ended it,” he says simply.