War Storm (Red Queen) - Victoria Aveyard Page 0,178
to him, Evangeline keeps still, her eyes on the floor, her mouth pursed shut. “You’re not our equals, no matter how much you try to be. That is nature.”
Cal finally breaks his silence, his eyes flaring. “Volo, quiet,” he says sharply. No title, no niceties. But no denial either. Whatever line he walks is growing thinner by the minute. “What exactly are you asking, Premier?” he adds. He’s going to make us spell it out.
“It’s not just my request,” Davidson replies, looking to me.
Cal looks at me, too, his bronze stare fully trained on my face. In spite of myself, my gaze runs over him, from his hands to the crown on his forehead. Everything he is.
I don’t hesitate. I’ve survived too much and too long. After all we’ve been through, Cal shouldn’t be surprised.
“Step down,” I tell him. “Or we step back.”
His voice flattens, hollow of emotion. No shock.
He saw this coming.
“You’ll end the alliance.”
Davidson nods once. “The Free Republic of Montfort has no interest in creating a kingdom like the one we escaped.”
Proud, Farley speaks up too. “The Scarlet Guard won’t stand for it either.”
I feel a low tremor of heat, a small ripple from Cal’s direction. A bad sign. With a sigh, I let go of any hope that he might finally see reason. It draws his attention, if only for a second. I see hurt in him, enough to evoke the same in me. Just a tiny pinprick, dull compared to all the wounds I have from the Calore brothers.
Cal looks back to Davidson, directing his rising anger to someone else. “So you’ll leave us to the Lakelanders and Piedmont. Kingdoms and princes worse than I will ever be?” he says, exasperated, almost stumbling over the words. It’s clear he’s trying to salvage this, and doing all he can to keep us here. “Like you said, we’re weak right now. Easy prey. Without your armies—”
“Red armies,” the premier reminds him coolly. “Newblood armies.”
“It can’t be done,” Cal replies, his voice blunt. He puts his hands out, palms up, empty. With nothing to offer. “It just can’t be done. Not now. In time, maybe, but the High Houses won’t kneel if there isn’t a king. We’ll splinter. Norta won’t exist anymore. We don’t have time to change our entire form of government while preparing for an inevitable invasion—”
Farley cuts him off. “Make the time.”
Despite his height, his broad form, the crown, the uniform, all the trappings of a warrior and a king, Cal has never seemed more like a child. He looks between us, glancing from me to his grandmother to Volo. The latter offer no respite, their faces carved into matching scowls. If he bends to us, they will refuse. And the other side of his alliance will be broken.
Behind Cal, unseen, Julian lowers his head. He says nothing to anyone, and keeps his mouth shut.
Volo runs one deadly hand through his silver beard. His eyes flash. “The Silver lords of Norta will not give up their birthrights.”
Fast as lightning, Farley jumps out of her seat. She spits impressively at Volo’s feet. “That’s what I think of your birthright.”
The Samos king is, to my infinite surprise, stunned into silence. He gawks at her, mouth agape. I’ve never known a Samos to be at a loss for words.
“Rats don’t change,” Anabel snarls. She taps one hand against the arm of her chair, the threat clear as day. Not that it affects Farley much.
Cal only repeats himself, his voice barely more than a mumble. The hunters have pushed him into a corner. “It can’t be done,” he says.
Slowly, with finality, Davidson stands from his seat, and I follow suit. “Then we’re sorry to leave you like this,” he says. “Truly. I consider you a friend.”
Cal glances between us, eyes running back and forth. I see sadness in him, the same I feel in myself. We share an acceptance too. This was always the path we chose to walk.
“I know that,” Cal replies. His voice shifts, deepening. “And you should know I don’t respond well to ultimatums, friendly or otherwise.”
A warning.
And not just to us.
We step down together, Reds aligned in our beliefs and our goals. Red uniforms and green, our skin kissed by the same undertones of rose and scarlet. We leave behind the Silvers, as cold and unmoving as if they were carved from stones, statues with living eyes and dead hearts.
“Good luck,” I manage to say over my shoulder, stealing one last glance.