War Storm (Red Queen) - Victoria Aveyard Page 0,67
in tandem with my steps.
The strongarm has little trouble with the stairs, despite the extra weight of his cargo. And the Haven Sentinel is better trained than any of us; raised to defend the king and his family, he is in prime physical form. The same can be said of Laeron. I’m loath to trust a Nortan, let alone three at my side, but it couldn’t be helped. An even representation was required for politics’ sake.
Jidansa is the only companion I trust completely. The other Lakelander with us sets my teeth on edge. I loathe Niro of the Eskariol Line, but we need him and his talents. He’s a skin healer, a strange one. A person gifted with the ability to save life should not enjoy taking it as much as he does.
I can hear him breathing, inhaling and exhaling rapidly as we ascend. Though I’m glad to have a healer as talented as he is at our backs, I wish he weren’t necessary. Niro takes too much delight in what he must do before the night is done.
“With luck, they won’t be noticed until midday,” he whispers. “My work will be perfect.” His voice is smooth, silken. Niro comes from a long line of diplomats just as adept at healing political alliances as they are at fixing broken bones.
“Keep silent,” I murmur back at him. The ghost of his presence is somehow colder than the mountain air.
Ascendant is not undefended. Guard posts and patrols dot the way, though far less than I’ve seen in the Lakelands or the Nortan capital. These foolish Montfortans think their mountains and their secrets are enough to keep them safe.
I glance over my shoulder, at the other side of the valley. I feel the swish of my black braid but can’t see it. What must be the premier’s palace sprawls across the height opposite us, with other estates and government buildings lining its edges. It gleams white in the starlight, with many lights glowing from balconies, windows, and terraces.
Mare Barrow is in there. The lightning girl with a knack for survival.
I thought her a delightful curiosity in Archeon. The Red girl leashed to a Silver king who seemed just as trapped by her as she was by him. I won’t pretend to understand why she bewitches Maven in such a way, but it must be his mother’s doing. No person of sound mind carries such obsession. And it cannot be love. No person capable of love acts the way he does.
I never thought I would marry for love. I’m not naive enough for such daydreams. My parents grew to love and respect each other through their arrangement, and I hoped for that at least. Of course, Maven makes that hope impossible. I’ve had only small glimpses into his heart, and they are enough to know that his heart is dead.
If the Bracken children were not our objective, if I actually hoped to maintain my Nortan crown, I might entertain the idea of killing Mare Barrow. Not for spite, but to hopefully give Maven some clarity. She is a motivation now, a carrot for him to follow, but she is a weakness too. And I need him weak. I need him distracted.
As Mother said, Maven Calore will face the flood.
They all will.
The military contingent left ten minutes ago, their transports screaming up the mountain. I can still hear the echoes coming down the slope, reverberating through the streets and allies of the Montfort capital. The rest of the city clangs with alarm bells and warning signals. Just as planned. I blink, still shrouded in Sentinel Haven’s impenetrable shadow.
The observatory guards abandoned their posts to assist the city, leaving behind a skeleton shift of two Montfort soldiers. At night, their green uniforms seem black. They stand out against the polished moonstone columns holding up the spangled dome of stained glass.
Without a singer or a whisper to wipe the memories of both guards, we have no choice but to slip by them instead. It isn’t difficult, but I hold my breath as we do, weaving through the observatory columns.
They flank the entrance, still and steady, accustomed to the clanging alarms. Raider attacks are common, I’m told, and of little threat to the capital.
“On the plain?” one says to the other, turning his face.
His compatriot shakes her head. “On the slopes. They hit the plains twice last month.”
The male guard grins, shoving his hand in his pocket. “Plain. Bet you ten coppers.”