War Storm (Red Queen) - Victoria Aveyard Page 0,50
my plate with my fork, scraping together the perfect bite, that I barely notice the door open again behind us.
“Apologies, of course,” Davidson says, his pace even but quick, as he walks toward the table. Julian trails him closely. Side by side, I’m struck by how similar Julian and Davidson look. In air, not appearance. They both have a hunger about them, the intellectual kind. Otherwise they could not be more different. Julian is too slim, his graying hair thinning and wispy, his eyes watery and brown. Davidson is a picture of health, his gray hair neatly cut and gleaming, and despite his age, he is all lean muscle. “What have we missed?” he asks, taking the seat beside his husband.
With some awkward glances, Julian surveys the table and claims the only open seat. The one meant for Tiberias, if Tiberias weren’t so hell-bent on annoying me.
Carmadon sniffs. “Discussion of the menu, the breeding habits of bison, and your lack of punctuality.”
The premier’s laugh is open, honest. He either feels no need to perform or he performs perfectly in his own home. “Normal dinner conversation, then.”
At the far end of the table, Julian leans forward, looking sheepish. “The fault is mine, I’m afraid.”
“The library?” his nephew offers with a knowing grin. “We heard.”
My heart twists at the warmth in Tiberias’s voice. He loves his uncle, and any reminder of the person Tiberias is beneath his bad choices makes me ache.
A corner of Julian’s mouth lifts. “I’m the predictable kind, aren’t I?”
“I prefer predictable,” I mutter. But loud enough for the table to hear.
Farley smirks at her plate. And Tiberias scowls, turning to me with a quick, even snap of his neck. His mouth opens, as if he’s about to say something rash and stupid.
His grandmother speaks before he can, eager to protect him from himself. “And what makes this library so . . . interesting?” she asks, her disdain evident.
I can’t help myself. “Probably the books.”
Farley barks out a laugh with little regard while Julian tries to hide a smirk in his napkin. The rest are more demure. But Tiberias’s low chuckle stops me cold. I glance at him to see him smiling, eyes crinkled at the corners as he looks down at me. I realize that, for a moment, he has forgotten where we are—and who we are. His laughter dies in an instant, his face falling back into a more neutral expression.
“Ah yes,” Julian pushes on, if only to distract us all. “The volumes are quite extensive. Not just regarding science, but history as well. I’m afraid we lost track of ourselves.” He bobs his head and samples the wine. Then he tips his glass toward Davidson. “Or the premier obliged me, at least.”
Davidson raises his glass in reply. A watch ticks on his wrist. “Always happy to share books. Knowledge is a rising tide. Lifts all boats, as it were.”
“You should visit the Vaults of Vale,” Carmadon puts in. “Or even Horn Mountain.”
“We do not intend to be here long enough for sightseeing,” Anabel says with a sniff. Slowly she lays her silverware on her plate of half-eaten food. Indicating how supremely finished she is with all this.
In her furs, Evangeline lifts her head. Like a cat, she surveys the old queen. Weighing something. “I agree,” she says. “The sooner we’re able to return, the better.”
Return to someone, she means.
“Well, that isn’t up to us, is it? Excuse me,” Farley adds as she leans across the table. Anabel’s eyes almost bug out of her head as she watches a Red rebel grab her abandoned plate and scrape the leftovers onto her own. With sure hands, Farley slices up the extra cut of bison, the knife dancing through meat. I’ve seen her do worse to human flesh. “It’s up to the Montfort government,” she says, “and whether or not they decide to give us more soldiers. Eh, Premier?”
“Indeed,” Davidson says. “Wars cannot be won on familiar faces alone. No matter how bright the flag, how high the standard.” His gaze flickers from Tiberias to me. What he means is clear. “We need armies.”
Tiberias nods. “And we’ll get them. If not from Montfort, then from anywhere we can. The High Houses of Norta can be swayed.”
“House Samos tried.” Evangeline gestures for more wine with a lazy, familiar twist of her fingers. “We aligned who we could, but the rest? I wouldn’t rely on them.”
Tiberias blanches. “You think they’ll stay loyal to Maven when—”