War Storm (Red Queen) - Victoria Aveyard Page 0,76

representative named Radis stands again. He doesn’t look a day over thirty-five, and he’s old enough to remember what this country was before Montfort. He eyes us all. “So you propose we support another Silver monarch and help him to a throne.”

On my right, Evangeline grins, and I can see she capped her eyeteeth with pointed silver. Gruesome, I think to myself. And a message like the rest of her image. She will bite out the heart of anyone in her way. Including all of us.

“Two, actually,” she says, projecting her voice across the amphitheater. “My father, the king of the Rift, must also be recognized as a legitimate ruler.”

A corner of Tiberias’s mouth twitches, and Anabel purses her lips. As before in Corvium, Evangeline does her best to sidetrack any progress her betrothed might make.

Radis sneers back at her, gray eyes flashing. “But as you told us, Premier,” he says, “the Free Republic was built from such kingdoms. We know what they are, what they become.” His gaze ticks from Evangeline to Tiberias. “No matter how noble, how true, how honorable the king or queen.”

Premier Davidson’s blank mask threatens to slip, betraying a frown. He bows his head slightly, acknowledging Radis’s point. Others murmur around the room, ruminating on the same flaw in this alliance. Of course, Davidson and the Guard have a longer game, with no intention of propping up more kings and queens, but we can’t exactly argue that in front of the Silvers.

The lie comes easily for me, because it isn’t entirely false.

“You said something else before, Premier,” I say quickly, pushing out of my chair. “Before the second battle of Corvium, when we were still in Piedmont.”

Davidson whirls to me, an eyebrow raised.

“Inches for miles,” I explain, sharpening each letter on my tongue.

The full strength of the Gallery’s attention makes me shiver with desperation. They must agree. We need their support if we’re going to end Maven’s reign and stop Tiberias from picking up the crown he leaves behind. “Change can be quick, or it can be slow. But the movement should always be forward. I know some of you look at King Tiberias, at Queen Anabel and Princess Evangeline, and wonder, how are they different? How is spilling your own blood to give them a throne better than staying alive and letting Maven keep his?”

Radis looks down his long nose at me. “Because you claim Maven Calore is a monster. A wayward boy with no leash.”

I toss my head, flicking my braid over my shoulder. Like Farley, I let my scars tell their own story. The M on my collarbone cooks beneath a hundred pairs of eyes. “Because Maven Calore is, without question, without argument, the worse option,” I say, directing my words to all of them. “Not only will he never move his country forward, but he will also drag Norta backward. He has no regard for Red life, or even Silver. No thoughts of equality. Not even an inkling of anything beyond his broken circle of vengeance and the desire to be loved. And unlike Tiberias, unlike King Volo in the Rift, unlike perhaps any Silver monarch breathing today, he is willing to do anything to keep his crown.”

Slowly, Radis sits. He gestures with a white hand, asking me to continue. Not that I need his permission. Still, pride surges in me.

“Yes,” I tell them. “Under most circumstances, you would be better off staying here, protected by your mountains, insulated against the world. If you can find it in your stomachs to ignore the atrocities of Norta and her allies.” Some of them squirm in their chairs. “But not now. Not with the Lakelands on his side. You can take your time deciding whether to give us more aid, but that bell has already rung. You voted to help us before. Your soldiers were there when I was rescued from Whitefire Palace. Your army helped us hold the walls of Corvium. And Maven Calore will never forget what you did. He will never forget how you stole me from him.”

You’re like Thomas was, Maven told me once. I hear him still muttering in my head. You are the only person I care about, the only person who reminds me I am alive. Not empty. And not alone.

He was a monster then, keeping me trapped in his palace, trapped inside my own skin. I wonder what kind of beast he is now, with nothing and no one but the splintered pieces in his