War Storm (Red Queen) - Victoria Aveyard Page 0,204
you would have us believe.”
It’s wild enough, I think, remembering our battle with a herd of bison.
“I was taught your country was a land of Silvers as much as my own, albeit divided by many kings and lords. How wrong my instructors were.” Maven keeps on, turning slightly as he speaks. He could be counting us. The seven generals of Command, matched by Davidson and the representatives from his government and military. He stops when he spots Radis, plainly silver-blooded with his cold-hued skin. “How interesting,” he murmurs. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure, sir?”
The older Silver flexes a hand, the waning sunlight flashing on his long nails. A soft brush of wind rustles through Maven’s hair. A warning. “Save your breath, princeling. There are things to discuss.”
Maven only grins. “I just didn’t expect to see Silvers here, in the midst of such . . . crimson company.”
I huff, already bored with his stalling tactics. “You said yourself, you don’t know anything about this place.” Maven turns back to me, glaring, but I wave him off. “And you don’t need to.”
He bares his teeth. “Because you’ll execute me before long? Is that the threat you’re trying to make, Mare?” I set my jaw, electing not to answer. “It’s an empty one. If you were going to kill me, you would have done it already. I’m worth more alive. To you and your cause.”
The room remains silent in reply.
“Oh, don’t play coy,” Maven sneers. “As long as I breathe, I’m a threat to my brother. Same as he was to me. I assume he’s collecting loyalties now, recalling the High Houses of Norta. Trying to win over those who pledged allegiance to me. And some will, but all?” Slowly, he ticks his head back and forth, clucking his tongue like a scolding mother. “No, they’ll sit back and wait. Or they’ll fight him.”
“For you?” I snap back. “I doubt that.”
He makes a noise low in his throat, a growl more suited to an animal.
“What exactly do you need from me?” he says, wrenching his eyes away. He moves gracefully, swiveling on his toes to face the rest of the chamber. The fallen king has no cage, but he is obviously trapped. For some reason, his eyes waver on Tyton, looking over the electricon, with his white hair and calmly murderous disposition. “And who is he?”
To my surprise, I hear fear in Maven Calore.
Farley pounces, smelling blood in the water. “You’re going to tell us what you did to the Archeon tunnels. Which ones are closed, which ones are open. Which ones you built after you took the throne.”
In spite of his predicament, Maven rolls his eyes and laughs. “You people and your tunnels.”
The young general is not deterred. “Well?”
“And what do I get out of this?” He leers at her. “A better view from my cell? Not that it would be difficult. I currently have no windows.” With oddly twitching hands, he counts off on his fingers. “Better food? Visitors, perhaps?” Maven wavers a little, teeth on edge. His body seems to shiver. Whatever control he maintains is beginning to slip. “A painless death?”
I fight the urge to grab him, if only to keep him still. He reminds me of a rat in a trap, squirming for his life.
“You get the satisfaction, Maven,” I force out.
I should be used to the sensation of his eyes running through me. I’m not, and I shudder, his gaze a featherweight on my skin. “Of what?” he murmurs.
Despite the yards between us, Maven feels much too close.
The words taste sour in my mouth. “You know what.”
His grin widens, a white knife to taunt us. “If I can’t have the throne, neither can he,” he says plainly. “Well, that’s something, at least.” His voice drops, as does his grin. “But not enough.”
Behind him, Davidson looks to his side, exchanging a stern glance with Tyton. After a long moment, the white-haired electricon unfolds from his chair. He rises slowly, deliberately, hands loose at each side. Maven turns at the sound, sharp in his motions. His eyes widen.
“Who is he?” Maven asks again. I try to ignore the tremor in his voice.
I raise my chin. “Someone like me.”
Tyton drums a hand against his leg, running a single, blinding white spark down his finger.
“But stronger.”
Dark lashes flutter against pale cheeks, and Maven’s throat bobs.
His next words are reluctant, stumbling. Low, almost inaudible. “I need something in exchange,” he hisses.
My teeth clench in frustration. “Maven, I already told you—”