War Storm (Red Queen) - Victoria Aveyard Page 0,171

rubs his eyes and yawns, already exhausted though the morning is barely over.

I scrub a hand over my face again, wishing I could wipe away my frustration as easily as sweat and grime. Impossible to get even one second to myself.

“And when he refuses?” I grumble to them both. Our plan, one last chance to keep things together, has too many holes to count.

Davidson knits his fingers on a bent knee. “If he refuses—”

“He will,” Farley and I say in bleak unison.

“Then we do as we say,” the premier says plainly, his shoulders rising and falling in an easy shrug. His angled eyes watch me with weary attention. “We’re finished if we don’t hold to our word. And I have promises to keep to my own country.”

Farley nods in agreement. She turns to me over her shoulder, her face inches away from mine. Up close, I can count the freckles across her nose, spreading as the summer wears on. They contrast with her scarred mouth. “So do I,” she says. “The other Command generals have made themselves clear.”

“I’d like to meet them,” Davidson mutters idly.

She offers a bitter smirk. “If this goes as we think it will, they’ll be waiting for us when we return.”

“Good,” he replies.

I spread my fingers across the surface, dragging lines through the milky, perfumed water. “How long will we have?” I say, asking what we’re all dancing around. “Before the Lakelands come back?”

Next to me, Farley turns back around to rest her chin on her bent knee. She clacks her teeth together, nervous. An odd emotion for her. “Intelligence in Piedmont and the Lakelands reports movement at their forts and citadels. Armies being assembled.” Her voice changes, growing heavy. “It won’t be long.”

“They’ll target the capital,” I say flatly. It isn’t a question.

“Probably,” Davidson says. He taps his lip, thoughtful. “A symbolic victory at the very least. And at best, if the other cities and regions kneel, a quick conquest of the entire country.”

Farley tightens at the suggestion. “If Cal dies in the attack . . .” She trails off, stopping herself. In spite of the warm bath, my body runs cold with the thought. I look away from her silhouette, to the window instead. Puffy white clouds move lazily across a friendly blue sky. Too bright and cheerful for such talk.

Whether he knows it or not, Davidson twists the knife that’s constantly stuck in my gut, picking up Farley’s train of thought. “With no Calore heirs. No king. Chaos will reign across the country.”

He says it like that’s some kind of option. I shift quickly in the water and glare at him. I put one hand on the porcelain rim of the tub, running a threatening spark down one finger. He draws back, just a little. “It will result in more Red bloodshed, Mare,” he explains. It sounds like an apology. “I have no interest in such things. We must win Archeon before they can.”

Nodding, Farley clenches a fist. Resolute. “And force Cal to step down. Make him see there is no other choice.”

I don’t move, still staring at the premier. “What about the Rift?”

His eyes narrow to slits. “Volo Samos will never tolerate a world he cannot rule, but Evangeline . . .” He turns her name over in his mouth. “She might be persuaded. Or, at the very least, bribed.”

“With what?” I scoff. I know Evangeline would do anything to stop her marriage to Cal, but betray her family, throw away her crown? I can’t imagine it. She’d rather suffer. “She’s richer than all of us. And too proud.”

Davidson raises his chin, looking superior. Like he knows something we don’t. “With her own future,” he says. “With freedom.”

I wrinkle my nose, unconvinced. “I’m not sure what you could ask from her. She’s not going to get rid of her own father.”

The premier dips his head in agreement. “No, but she can destroy an alliance. Refuse to marry. Cut the Rift from Norta. Give Cal nowhere else to turn. Help force his hand. He can’t survive without allies.”

He isn’t wrong, but the secondary plan is too precarious. Letting it depend on Evangeline’s shared motive is one thing, but her loyalty to her blood? Her family? It seems impossible. She said herself, she can’t refuse the betrothal, and she can’t go against her father’s wishes when all is done.

Steam rises in the silence, spiraling through the air.

On the other side of the door, an exasperated voice sounds. “What are the odds any of this