for my father, or for my crown. If only Calore felt as strongly for Mare. If only he loved her as I love Elane.
As soon as we’re safely in the belly of the jet, the curved walls lined with cushioned seats and restraints, bolted-down tables and thick-glassed windows, Cal peels away from me. He eases himself down next to his grandmother, holding solitary court at one of the few tabled areas.
“Nanabel,” I hear him mumble in greeting, using the utterly ridiculous and unbecoming pet name.
She looks weary for the first time I can remember. She offers her grandson a kind, private smile as he sits.
I find a seat of my own, favoring a window and a table at the corner, where I can sleep without much disturbance. Our jet is more comfortable than the military transports, though also commandeered from the Piedmont Air Fleet. The inside is white and cheery, accented with yellow and tiny bursts of purple stars along the interior. Prince Bracken’s colors and symbols.
I’ve never met the prince, only his various diplomats through the years, and of course his envoys, Prince Alexandret and Prince Daraeus. They’re both dead now. I watched Alexandret die in Archeon, shot through the skull during the first attempt on Maven’s life. The memory turns my stomach.
An Iral lord stood up, pointed a gun, and fired a bullet at the king sitting two feet to my left. Fired and missed, of course, forcing us to act like the allies we pretended to be.
He should have died that day. I wish he’d died that day.
I can still taste the iron tang of his blood, mercurial upon the stones, gushing in an open river at my feet.
The assassination attempt failed. The rebelling houses fled, retreating to their lands and strongholds. Elane is no warrior and she was already gone, fleeing before the attack. But House Samos had to keep our cover. I still had to stand at Maven’s council—stand because the weasel denied me the courtesy of a single chair—and watch him interrogate her sister. Watch his Merandus cousin spill out her memories before they executed her for treason.
Elane never speaks of it, and I won’t push. I can’t imagine what I would do if Ptolemus met the same fate. No, that’s not true. I can imagine a thousand things. A million different forms of violence and pain. And not one would fill the void. The bonds of Silver blood, when strong, are unbreakable. Our loyalty to the few we love runs bone-deep.
What will Bracken do for his children, then?
I didn’t ask after them, or their treatment in Montfort. It’s easier not to. One less worry in a world full of worries.
My pursuit of silent privacy is interrupted by a hurricane of muscular limbs and cropped blond hair. The Scarlet Guard general sits with a collapsing thump, shuddering the floor beneath my feet.
“You move with the grace of one of those bison,” I sneer, hoping to chase her out of the seat opposite mine.
She doesn’t flinch or reply. The woman just glares at me with a flash of anger, her eyes galaxy blue. Then she turns to the window, leaning her forehead against the glass with a low huff of breath. She isn’t crying. Not like Barrow, who enters the jet with hiccups and red-rimmed eyes.
There is no such display of sorrow on General Farley. Still, I can see the agony rolling off her like a tide. Her face goes blank, empty without the usual stony expression and obligatory disgust she tosses at Silvers, especially me.
I know she has a daughter, an infant, stowed away somewhere.
Not here. Not on this craft.
Barrow follows the Red woman, taking the seat beside her, and I snarl to myself. We traveled here with two jets, enough to keep the Reds and Silvers apart, as well as carry the bounty of Corvium. I find myself wishing that were still the case, and we weren’t all crammed together for the journey to the Rift.
“There are approximately sixty other seats on this plane,” I mutter.
Mare cuts her own glare at me, torn between anger and heartache. “You’re welcome to move if you want,” she replies. “But I doubt you have somewhere better to sit.” She gestures with her chin, indicating the rest of the plane as it fills with various representatives of those loyal to Cal and the Scarlet Guard.
I sink back into the plush seat, almost huffing. She isn’t wrong. I hardly want to spend the hours donning a court mask,