فصل بیست و هشتم

Twenty-Eight: Iris

Citadel of the Lakes is the safest place I could ever be, and yet I’m on edge, nervous, constantly looking over my shoulder. I see only familiar guards in their blues, almost blending into the mist of a rainy summer morning. Jidansa is here too, the old telky trailing my mother and me as we walk the pathways arching over the vast training grounds. She has a calming presence, much like my mother, and I try to relax with them so close. Below us, regiments of the Lakelander army prepare for war. Those who have already fought, legions ceded to Maven while we were allied, have earned some well-needed rest. The soldiers here are fresh, ready to fight. Eager to win a country for the glory of the Lakelands. The hills and rivers, the beaches of Norta. Their powerful tech towns, bursting with electricity and economic value. The Kingdom of Norta is a gold mine just waiting to be claimed.

Thousands upon thousands of soldiers drill in the rain, unbothered by the wet weather. The same will be true across our kingdom. From Citadel of the Snows to Citadel of the Rivers, the call has gone out. We are mobilizing all we can gather, Silver and Red. The army of the Lakelands is assembled and ready to strike. We have the numbers; we have the abilities. Our enemy is already crippled, and we need only put it out of its misery.

So why do I feel so unsettled, deep in my heart?

Reviewing troops doesn’t require royal finery, and both of us are dressed like the soldiers we support, in blue uniforms edged with glinting silver and gold. Even Mother has stopped wearing her mourning blacks. But we haven’t forgotten Father, or our vengeance. It weighs on us all like a heavy stone. I feel it with every step.

We cross the last bridge, stepping onto one of the many balconies ringing the central structure of the citadel. The windows glow, beckoning with warmth. Despite the calming effect of the rain, I’m eager to get out of the weather. My mother moves quickly, setting our pace, and leads us inside. We’re supposed to meet Tiora for lunch, but by the time we reach the room prepared for our meal, she still isn’t there.

It isn’t like my sister to be late.

I glance at my mother for some kind of explanation, but she merely takes her seat at the head of the table. If Queen Cenra isn’t bothered by Tiora’s absence, then I won’t be either.

Like Mother, I take my seat, ready to wait for Tiora to arrive. The guards hang back at the door, taking up flanking positions, but Jidansa sits. She is a noble of the Merin Line, an ancient and distinguished family here in the Lakelands, and she has served us for many years. While the queen helps herself to some fluffy bread, I inspect the vast array of silverware. Forks, spoons—knives especially. I count the possible weapons on the table out of habit, careful to include the filled water glasses. More deadly than any knife in my hands.

I stare at the water, letting it fill my perception as it fills each glass. The sense is as familiar as my own face. But somehow different now. After what I helped my mother do.

It’s been days since we made our trade, and I can’t get it out of my head. The sound especially. How the Iral lord choked on his last breaths, unable to fight us off. The Calore king’s uncle, someone named Jacos, is a singer, and he removed any fight from the man before we could get our hands on him. Maybe if he could have fought back, I wouldn’t feel so strange. He deserved to die. Deserved worse punishment than we gave. But the memory still fills me with the strange, foreign sense of shame. As if I have betrayed the gods in some way. Gone against their will and their nature.

I’ll pray some more tonight, and hope to find an answer in their wisdom.

“Eat before the food gets cold,” Mother says, gesturing to the plates before us. “Tiora will be with us in a moment.” I nod and move mechanically, serving myself. Precautions have to be taken. No Red servants, not while we discuss the path ahead. The Scarlet Guard has ears and eyes everywhere. We must be vigilant.

Most of the meal is fish. Butterflied trout, sliced open and fried with butter and lemon. Yellow perch, crusted with pepper and salt. A warming stew of lamprey eel, the heads removed and proudly displayed at the center of the table. Their rows of spiraling teeth gleam in the soft light of the dining room. The other plates hold ears of golden corn, greens tossed in spiced oil, braided breads—the usual bounty from Lakelander crops. Our farms are far-flung and prosperous, able to feed our country twice over. Lakelanders never want for food, not even the lowest Red.

I help myself to a little of each, careful to leave the lamprey for Tiora. It’s an acquired taste, not to mention her favorite.

Another minute goes by in silence, marked only by the kindly ticking of a clock on the wall. Outside, the rain picks up, lashing the windows in merciless sheets.

“The army should break until this clears,” I mutter. “No use letting our soldiers get sick, and feed an epidemic of colds.” “True,” Mother replies around bites of food. She tips a hand at Jidansa, who stands quickly.

She ducks into a curt bow. “I’ll make it so, Your Majesty,” she says before setting off to deliver the order.

“The rest of you, wait outside,” my mother continues, glancing at each of our guards in turn. They don’t hesitate, almost leaping to follow her commands.

I watch the room empty, my nerves prickling. Whatever Mother wants to say to me isn’t meant for an audience. When the door shuts again, leaving us alone, she steeples her fingers together and leans forward.

“It isn’t the rain that bothers you, monamora.”

For a second, I debate denying it. Pasting on a smile, forcing a laugh and a dismissal. But I don’t like to wear masks with my mother. It’s dishonest. And besides, she sees right through them.

I sigh, setting aside my fork. “I keep seeing his face.”

She softens, wavering from queen to mother. “I miss your father too.”

“No.” The word stumbles out, too quick, startling my mother. Her eyes widen a little, darker than usual in the dim light. “I do think about him, all the time but . . .” I search for the proper way to say this. Instead I put it bluntly. “I’m talking about the man who killed him.” “Who we then killed,” Mother says, her voice even. It isn’t an accusation, but a simple statement of fact. “At your suggestion.” Once more, I feel rare shame. A flush creeps over my cheeks. Yes, it was my idea to take up Queen Anabel’s offer. To trade Maven for the man who killed my father. And later on, the man he killed my father for. But that part of the bargain has yet to be paid.

“I’d do it again,” I mutter, playing with my food for some distraction. I feel exposed beneath my mother’s gaze. “He deserves to die a hundred times, but—” She tightens, as if in pain. “You’ve killed before. In defense of your own life.” I open my mouth to try to explain, only to find her still speaking. “But not like that,” she adds, laying one hand on mine. Her eyes shine, full of understanding.

“No,” I admit, bitter and disappointed in myself. This was a righteous kill, payment for the death of my father. It shouldn’t be this way.

Mother’s fingers grip mine. “Of course it would feel different. Feel wrong somehow.”

My breath catches in my throat as I stare at our joined hands. “Will it go away?” I murmur, forcing myself to look back up at her.

But Mother isn’t looking at me. She glances out the window, into the obscuring rain. Her eyes dance with the lashing water. How many people has she killed? I wonder. I have no way of knowing, and no way of finding out. “Sometimes,” she finally says. “Sometimes not.” Before I can tug on that thread to unravel exactly what she means, Tiora enters the room, her own guards left behind in the hallway, like ours. While Mother came to Norta briefly, against all traditions of the Lakelands, Tiora stayed behind to keep our nation’s borders safe. And our armies ready for the next step in our journey. She was well suited to the job, and it seems to cheer her, even as we leap between wars.

The heiress to the Lakelander throne looks like just another soldier, her uniform wrinkled, without any livery or insignia to it. She could be a simple messenger, if not for the Cygnet look. High cheekbones and a higher opinion of oneself.

She sits with our father’s grace, folding her long limbs into the chair across from mine.

“Lovely, I’m famished,” she says, picking at the spread with both hands. I nudge the stew in her direction, along with the display of lamprey heads. As children, we used to throw them at each other. Tiora remembers, and she offers a tiny grin in reply.

Then she gets down to business, facing our mother with the gravity of a general. “We have word from Snows, Hills, Trees, Rivers, and Plains,” she says, rattling off the other citadels dotting the vast expanse of the Lakelands. “All are ready.” Queen Cenra nods, pleased by the news. “As they should be. The time to strike is coming, and coming soon.” The time to strike. We’ve spoken of nothing else since I returned to my homeland. I haven’t even had time to enjoy my freedom beyond the bounds of Maven’s kingdom or his marriage. Mother has me in endless meetings and reviews. After all, I’m the only one of us to have faced Tiberias and his contingent of unknown Red soldiers, not to mention his Rift allies.

We have Bracken and Piedmont on our side, yes, but is he a better ally than Maven was? A better shield against the Calore brother now on the throne? Is it even any use to wonder? Our decision is long since made. Maven is a card we’ve already played and traded off.

Tiora forges on. “More importantly, it seems Tiberias Calore’s newly made kingdom is splintering again.” I blink at her, forgetting the food on my plate. “How so?”

“The Reds are no longer with him,” she replies. I feel myself twitch in surprise. “According to our intelligence reports, the Scarlet Guard, that strange newblood, and the Montfort armies, have all disappeared. Returned to the mountains, we think. Or gone underground.” At the head of the table, Mother sighs aloud. She raises one hand, massaging her temple. “When is anyone going to learn that young kings are fools?” Tiora smirks in amusement, enjoying Mother’s show of female frustration.

I’m more interested in the implication of Red desertion. Without Montfort, the newbloods, the spies of the Scarlet Guard, without Mare Barrow, the scales have certainly tipped against Tiberias Calore. And it isn’t difficult to understand why.

“The Reds won’t support him on the throne,” I say. I didn’t know Mare well, but I saw enough of her to guess. She fought Maven at every turn, even as a prisoner. Surely she wouldn’t stomach another king. “They must have had an agreement, to win the country back and build anew. Tiberias refused his end of the bargain. Silvers still rule in Norta.” After a bite of lamprey, Tiora shakes her head. “Not entirely. There have been proclamations. More rights for the Reds of Norta. Better wages. The end of forced labor. They’ve stopped conscription too.” My eyes widen. Mostly out of shock, but also from unease. If Reds across the border are offered such boons, what will happen to Reds in the Lakelands? It will be an exodus, a mad dash.

“We have to close our borders,” I say quickly. “Stop any Reds from crossing into Norta.”

Again, Mother sighs. “He’s truly an idiot,” she mutters. “Of course, we’ll double our watch at the Nortan border. Leave it to a Calore to cause us more headaches.” Tiora hums low in her throat. “He’s causing himself headaches as well. Their tech towns are draining as we speak. I assume any economic might they have now will soon follow.” At that, our mother almost laughs to herself. I would join her if I could. All I can think about is the magnificent stupidity of Tiberias Calore. He’s only just won back his throne, and now he seeks to strip his country of its greatest strengths? For who? Some red-blooded nobodies? For the myth of equality, justice, honor, or whatever other foolish ideal he hopes to achieve? I scoff to myself. I wonder if the Calore king, left to his own devices, will simply drown under the weight of his crown. Or be devoured by the Rift king, scheming to leech what he can from the so-called Flame of the North.

He won’t be the only Silver in the Nortan territories to chafe under the proclamations. I feel a smirk curl on my lips, twisting to one side as I think. “I doubt the Silvers of Norta will like that,” I say, waving a finger over my water glass. Inside, the liquid swirls with my motions.

Mother eyes me, trying to follow my train of thought. “Indeed.”

“I could reach out to a few of them,” I continue, the plan coming as quickly as I speak it. “Offer condolences. Or incentives.” “If some could be swayed, just a few key regions . . . ,” Mother says, seeming to light up.

I nod. “Then this war will be over in a single battle. Archeon falls, and Norta with it.”

Across from me, Tiora pushes her favored stew away. “What about the Reds?”

I gesture to her with an open hand. “You said it yourself: They’ve gone to ground. Retreated. Left Norta open for the taking.” Grinning, I glance between my mother and sister. All thoughts of the Iral lord and his death seem to evaporate from my mind. We have more important things to worry about. “And we have to take it.” “For the gods,” Tiora breathes, gently hitting her fist against the table.

I stifle the urge to correct her. Instead I dip my head to my older sister. “For our own protection.” She blinks, confused. “Our protection?”

“We sit here, serving our own lunch, for fear of the Scarlet Guard. Reds surround us, in our nation and outside it. If their rebellion continues to spread, hungry as a cancer, where will that leave us?” I brush my fingers over the plates and cups, then gesture to the empty room and windows. The rain has lessened, easing to a steady pattern of drips. In the distance, to the west, the sun breaks through the gray clouds in tiny spatters of light. “And what about Montfort? An entire country of Reds and those strange newbloods set against us? We have to defend ourselves. Make ourselves too big and too strong to challenge.” Neither of you has been there. You haven’t seen their city, high in the mountains. Red and Silver and newblood, joined together. And stronger for the joining. It was easy to sneak into Ascendant, to rescue Bracken’s children, but I can’t imagine an army doing the same. Any war with Montfort will be bloody, for both sides. It must be prevented, made impossible, before it can even begin.

I steel myself. “Give them no chance to rise up or stand against us.”

Mother is quick to respond. “Agreed.”

“Agreed,” Tiora offers with the same speed. She even raises her glass, the clear liquid turning in the faceted cup.

Outside, as the rain ebbs to nothing, I feel a bit calmer. Still anxious about what is to come, but satisfied by the plan taking shape. If Maven’s houses can be made loyal to us, then Tiberias will be severely hobbled. Losing allies left and right. Alone on the throne is no place for anyone to be.

Maven was alone too, no matter how many advisers and nobles surrounded him. I’m glad he never tried to make me share his empty hours, at least not more than was necessary. He frightened me, when he was alive. He was an impossible person to predict. I never knew what he might say or do, and it forced me to live on edge. I’ve only just begun to catch up on all the sleep lost in his palace, too close to the monstrous king for comfort.

“I’m surprised they didn’t execute him publicly,” I muse aloud, my voice low. “I wonder how they did it.” I see Maven in my head, struggling weakly against our guards. He didn’t see it coming. I’m impossible to predict too.

My sister dips her spoon in the lamprey stew, not eating, but pushing the liquid back and forth. It sloshes, filling the silence.

“What is it, Tiora?” Mother prods, seeing right through her display.

Tiora hesitates, but not for long. “There’s been some speculation about that,” she says. “He hasn’t been seen or heard from since he was taken to the palace in Harbor Bay.” I shrug. “Because he’s dead.”

Tiora doesn’t look at me. Can’t look at me. “Our spies don’t think so.”

Despite the warmth of the room and the food, I feel a sudden chill deep in my chest. I swallow hard, trying to understand—and ignore the fear threatening to return. Don’t be a coward. He’s far away, imprisoned if not dead. He’s not your problem anymore.

Mother shares none of my terror. She just blusters. “Why keep him alive? I swear, these Calore brothers are trying to out-idiot each other.” I try to be more thoughtful. I speak if only to mask my unease. “Perhaps the older brother can’t do it. He seemed softhearted.” He must be, to allow himself to be so manipulated by a Red girl.

Tiora is just as observant as our mother, and she tries to be gentle as she explains. “There are rumors that Maven isn’t there anymore.” The queen of the Lakelands blanches. “Well, where could he be?”

There are few options, and I run through them quickly. Of course, one is more obvious than the rest. And woefully awful for that lightning girl. At least I escaped Maven Calore. She, it seems, cannot. “I suspect Montfort,” I say. “He’s with the newbloods and the Scarlet Guard. With Mare Barrow.” Tiora bobs her head, thinking as she nods. “So when the Reds left . . .”

“He’s a valuable hostage, yes,” I tell her. “If Maven is still alive, Tiberias is vulnerable. Nobles might still be loyal to his brother.” Mother surveys me like an adviser, not a daughter. It thrills me, and I feel my spine straighten, flattening my back against my seat as I draw up to my full height. “Do you think that’s possible?” she asks.

I chew on the answer for a moment, weighing what I know of Norta and its Silvers. “I think those Silver houses just want a reason not to back Tiberias. To hold on to their country as it was.” Both my mother and Tiora, a queen and a queen to be, watch me silently. I raise my chin.

“I say we give them a reason.”