War Storm (Red Queen) - Victoria Aveyard Page 0,6

were here. I should have brought her. She asked to come. In truth, she begged. Elane has always wanted to keep close, even in the face of lethal danger. I try not to think of our last moments together, her body in my arms. She’s thinner than I am, but softer. Ptolemus waited outside my door, making sure we weren’t disturbed.

“Let me go with you,” she whispered in my ear, a dozen times, a hundred times. But her father and mine forbade it.

Enough, Evangeline.

I curse at myself now. They would have never known in the middle of the chaos. Elane’s a shadow, after all, and an invisible girl is easy to smuggle. Tolly would have helped. He wouldn’t stop his wife from coming along, not if I asked for his aid. But I couldn’t. There was a battle to be won first, a battle I didn’t know if we could win. And I wasn’t about to take that risk with her. She’s talented, but Elane Haven is no warrior. And in the thick of it, she would only be a distraction and a worry for me. I could afford neither then. But now . . .

Stop it.

My fingers curl against the arms of my throne, begging to carve the iron into ragged pieces. At home, the many metal galleries of Ridge House made for easy therapy. I could destroy in peace. Channel any fresh rage into constantly changing statues, without having to worry about what anyone else might think. I wonder if I might find some privacy here in Corvium to do just that. The promise of such release keeps me sane. I scratch the clawed ring on my chair, metal on metal. Soft enough that only Mother hears. She can’t scold me for it, not in front of the rest of our strange council. If I have to be on display, I might as well enjoy the few advantages.

Finally, I wrench my thoughts away from Anabel’s vulnerable neck and Elane’s absence. If I’m going to figure a way out of my father’s plan, I have to at least pay attention.

“Their army is on the retreat. King Maven’s forces cannot be allowed the time to regroup,” Father says coolly. Behind him, the tall windows of the tower show the sun beginning its descent into the clouds lingering on the western horizon. The obliterated landscape still smokes. “He’s licking his wounds.”

“The boy is already into the Choke,” Queen Anabel is quick to reply. The boy. She refers to Maven like he isn’t her grandson. I suppose she won’t acknowledge that anymore. Not after he helped kill her son, King Tiberias. Maven isn’t her blood, but Elara’s and Elara’s alone.

Anabel leans forward on her elbows, clasping her wrinkled hands together. Her old wedding ring, battered but gleaming, winks on one finger. When she took us all by surprise at Ridge House, announcing her intention to back her grandson, she wore no metal to speak of. To hide from our magnetron senses. Now she wears it openly, daring us to use her crown or her jewelry against her. Every part of her is a calculated choice. And she is not without weapons of her own. Anabel was a warrior before she was a queen, an officer at the Lakelander front. She is an oblivion, and her touch is deadly, able to obliterate and explode something—or someone.

If I didn’t hate what she’s forcing me into, I would respect her dedication at the very least.

“And at this hour, most of his forces will be beyond Maiden Falls and over the border,” she adds. “They’re in the Lakelands now.”

“The Lakelander army is wounded too, just as vulnerable. We should strike while we can, even just to pick off the stragglers.” My father looks from Anabel to one of our Silver lords. “The Laris fleet can be ready inside the hour, can’t they?”

Lord General Laris sharpens under my father’s gaze. His flask is empty now, leaving him to enjoy the drunken haze of victory. He coughs, clearing his throat. I can smell the alcohol on his breath from across the chamber. “It can, Your Majesty. You need only give the command.”

A low voice cuts him off. “I’ll oppose it if you do.”

Cal’s first words since returning from his spat with Mare Barrow are certainly not wasted. Like his grandmother, he wears black trimmed with red, having long ago discarded the borrowed uniform he wore in battle. He shifts in his seat next to Anabel, taking his assigned