War Storm (Red Queen) - Victoria Aveyard Page 0,168

fire he can no longer possess. “Afraid of a boy, Cal? I thought you were the warrior.”

At Cal’s side, Mare tenses, putting a hand to his arm. To stop him or push him on, I don’t know. His throat bobs as he swallows, deciding what to do.

With aching slowness, the last king standing puts a hand on the hilt of his sword. “You’d kill me if our places were exchanged.”

Breath whistles between Maven’s teeth. He hesitates just long enough, leaving space for a lie. Or the hope of a lie. There is no predicting the mind of Maven Calore, or what face he allows anyone to see.

“Yes, I would,” he mutters. He spits blood once more. “Are you proud?”

Cal doesn’t reply.

The ice-blue eyes shift, jumping to the girl at his brother’s side. Mare hardens under his gaze, firm as tempered steel. She has every reason to fear him, but hides it all.

“Are you happy?” Maven asks, almost a whisper. I’m not sure who the question is for.

Neither says a word.

A gurgling sound draws my attention, and I look up from Maven to see the queens circling their prey. They move in a kind of circle. Not a dance, not a ritual. There is no pattern to it. Only cold, collected rage. Even Bracken looks unsettled by them. He takes a few steps back, allowing them room to do what they must. Still on his knees, Salin sways between them, his mouth foaming with seawater.

They take turns pouring water over his face with torturous efficiency. Just enough to keep him breathing. Little by little, drop by drop, his face pales, then purples, then blackens. And he falls, twitching, drowning in half a foot of water, unable to sit up. Unable to save himself. They bend over his body, putting their hands to his shoulders. Making sure they are the last thing he sees as he dies.

I’ve seen torture before, from people who delight in it. It always unsettles. But this brutality is too measured for me to understand. It terrifies me.

Iris catches me watching, and I look away, unable to stand it.

She was certainly right. Maven made a mistake letting her into his kingdom and his palace.

“Are you happy?” Maven asks again, more desperate and ferocious, his teeth like white fangs.

“Be silent, Maven,” Julian sings, forcing the boy to look at him. For the first time in his twisted life, Maven Calore shuts his weasel mouth.

I look over my shoulder, only to find Ptolemus as white-faced as I feel. The world has shifted beneath our feet. Alliances broken and remade, leaving borders to be redrawn, betrothals to be carried out.

And, I realize with a sinking sensation, one more piece of the bargain. There must be.

I lean into my brother, whispering so only he can hear.

“This can’t just be for Salin.”

Iral is a disgraced lord without title or land or any kind of power, in either the Rift or Norta. He isn’t worth anything beyond what he did. And even the Lakelander queens wouldn’t trade Maven to feed their vengeance. They’re strange, not stupid. Anabel said this was the price, but that can’t be true. There must be more. Someone else.

I keep my face blank as the realization churns through me. No one can see behind my mask of stillness.

I wasn’t far off the mark, when I feared we were the trade.

But Maven’s right. A prince and princess for a king? Idiotic. We aren’t worth him.

Our father certainly is.

Volo Samos, king of the Rift. Salin stuck a knife in the Lakelander king to please my father and win his favor. It’s his fault as much as anyone. It was done in his name.

And he is a rival to the Lakelands as much as he is a rival to Cal.

It would be easy for Anabel to bargain him. A logical move to trade my father’s life.

I keep my fingers tightly knit to hide their shaking. I weigh the options as best I can, my expression empty and devoid of any emotion.

If Father dies, the Rift dissolves. It won’t stand without him, not with the way things are. I won’t be a princess anymore. I won’t be his subject, his hand-raised pet, his toy to trade, his sword to use as he pleases.

I won’t have to marry anyone I don’t love, or live my days as a lie.

But even against all things, I love my father. I can’t help it. I can’t bear it.

I don’t know what to do.

TWENTY-SIX

Mare

I refuse to fly in the