War Storm (Red Queen) - Victoria Aveyard Page 0,205

fallen king cuts me off, wrenching his eyes from Tyton to look back at me with all his black fire. “When you invade, which you’re planning to do,” he sneers, baring his teeth, “I’ll lead you where you need to go. Which tunnels, which paths. I’ll bring your whole army into the city myself, and set you loose on my wretched brother.”

Farley scoffs from her seat. “Into a trap, no doubt. Into the teeth of your Cygnet bride—”

“Oh, she’ll be there, no doubt,” Maven replies, waving a finger at her. Her face flushes with anger. “That snake and her mother have been planning to take Norta since the moment she set foot in my kingdom.”

“The moment you let her in,” I mutter.

Maven barely flinches. “A calculated risk. And so is this.”

Hardly convincing, even to those who don’t know him. The Command generals look more disgusted than when he walked in, no mean feat, while the newbloods of Montfort seem more inclined to skin Maven alive. The premier, usually so levelheaded, curls his lips into the rare, obvious scowl. Again he nods to Tyton, and the electricon takes one shuddering step forward.

It sets something off in Maven. He jumps out of reach, keeping his distance from all of us. The twitching returns in force, but his eyes blaze, all fire. No fear.

“You think I can’t lie through pain,” he snarls, his voice thundering through the room. “You think I haven’t done it a thousand times?”

No one has an answer for him, especially not me. I try not to react, not to give him the satisfaction of seeing an emotion from me. I fail horribly, unable to keep my eyes open. For a brief, empty moment I see nothing but darkness, and I try not to think of Maven. His words. What his life was and continues to be.

And how we’ve all suffered because of it.

I expect the others to give him no quarter. To torture what we need from him. Draw it out with lightning and pain. Will I be strong enough to watch?

Even Farley falters.

She stares at Maven, trying to read him. To weigh the risk and the cost. He meets her eyes without quailing.

She swears under her breath.

For once, he’s telling the truth.

Maven Calore is our only chance.

THIRTY

Cal

A coronation has always been in my future. The ceremonial crown is not a surprise. I turn it over in my hands, feeling the formidable weight of iron, silver, and gold. In less than an hour, my grandmother will put the monstrosity on my head. My father wore it too. He was already a king when I was born, with a different queen from the only one I recall.

I wish I could remember her. I wish the memories I had of my mother were my own, and not stories from Julian. Not the brush of oil paint instead of living flesh.

The diary copy is still locked away, hidden in a drawer at my bedside in my Archeon chambers. I’ll have to move it soon, once the king’s rooms are prepared, washed clean of Maven’s presence. I shudder at the thought. I don’t know why I’m so hesitant to lay hands on such a small and terrible thing. It’s just a book. Just a jumble of scrawled letters pieced together. I’ve faced down execution squads and armies. Fought lightning and storm. Dodged bullets. Fallen through the sky more than once.

And, somehow, my mother’s diary scares me more than anything else. I could barely get through a few pages, and even those I had to read with my flamemaker bracelet far away. Her words set me so on edge, I didn’t want to risk turning the pages to ash in my hands. The last pieces of Coriane Jacos, carefully preserved by my uncle. The original is long gone, but he was able to save this much of her.

I don’t know what her voice sounded like. I could find out, if I really wanted to. There are many recordings of her, and photographs too. But like my father did, I stay away from them. From a ghost I never knew.

Part of me doesn’t want to get up from the table here in this room. It’s quiet, peaceful, the inside of a bubble about to burst. I feel as if I’m standing on a threshold. The windows look out on Caesar’s Square, offering a full view of the chaos to come. Silvers in their house colors stream back and forth over the plaza, most of them

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