A man bustles in from one of the connecting rooms, and I can’t help but jump. He’s the spitting image of Rash and Tahir, the newblood twins. If I didn’t know Tahir was still in Piedmont and Rash embedded in Archeon, both relaying information for the cause, I would think he was one of the twins. Triplets, I quickly realize, and a bitterness fills my mouth. I don’t like surprises.
Like his brothers, Ibarem has dark brown skin, black hair, and a well-manicured beard. I can just glimpse a scar beneath the hair on his chin, a single white line of raised flesh. He’s marked too, cut by a Silver lord long ago to distinguish him from his identical siblings.
“Pleased to meet you,” I mutter, narrowing my eyes at Davidson.
He senses my unease. “Ah, yes, this would be the brother of Rash and Tahir.”
“Couldn’t tell,” I shoot back dryly.
Ibarem’s lips twist into a small smile as he nods his head in greeting. “Glad to make your acquaintance at last, Miss Barrow.” Then he turns to the premier, expectant. “What do you need, Premier?”
Davidson eyes him. “Send word to Tahir. Have him inform the Barrow family that their daughter will be collecting them tomorrow. For resettlement in Montfort.”
“Yes, sir,” he replies. His eyes glaze for a moment, as the message travels from his brain to his brother’s. It only takes a second, despite the hundreds of miles between them. He ducks his head again. “Relayed, sir. Tahir says congratulations and welcome, Miss Barrow.”
I only hope my parents accept the offer. Not that they wouldn’t. Gisa wants to go, and Mom will follow her lead. Bree and Tramy will follow Mom. But Dad, I’m not sure. Not if he knows I won’t be staying with them. Please go. Please let me give you this.
“Tell him thanks,” I mumble, still disconcerted by him.
“Relayed,” Ibarem says again. “Tahir says you’re very welcome.”
“Thank you both,” Davidson cuts in, and for good reason. The brothers can go back and forth with maddening speed, although it’s worse when their linked brains are side by side. Ibarem nods, taking the dismissal, before shuffling away to continue his work elsewhere.
“Are there any more of them you’d like to tell me about?” I hiss, leaning forward to grit my teeth at the premier.
He takes my annoyance in stride. “No, though I wish I had more of their like at my disposal,” he sighs. “Funny, those brothers. Usually Ardents have Silver counterparts, but I’ve never seen their like beyond our blood.”
“His brain feels different from any other,” Tyton mutters.
I eye him sharply. “The way you say that is very disconcerting.”
Tyton only shrugs.
I turn back to Davidson, still smarting, but unable to ignore what a gift he’s just given me. “Thank you for doing this. I know you lead the country, and it may not seem like much, but this means a great deal to me.”
“Of course it does,” he replies. “And I hope to do the same for other families like yours, as soon as we are able. My government is currently debating how to face what is rapidly becoming a refugee crisis, as well as how to move already-displaced Reds and newbloods. But for you, for what you’ve done and continue to do, exceptions can be made.”
“And what have I done? Really?” The words slip out before I can bite them back. Heat spreads across my cheeks.
“You’ve made cracks in the impenetrable.” Davidson speaks like he’s pointing out the obvious. “Put dents in armor. You loosened the proverbial jar, Miss Barrow. Let us break it open.” His grin is true, wide and white and stretching. I’m reminded of a cat. “And it’s no small thing that, because of you, a claimant to the throne of Norta will be coming to the Republic.”
That sends a jolt through me. Is that a threat? I move quickly, leaning over his desk, my palms braced against the wood, my voice low, in warning. “I want your word he won’t be harmed.”
He doesn’t hesitate. “You have it,” he says, matching my tone. “I won’t touch a hair on his head. Nor will anyone else, not while Calore is in my country. You have my solemn promise. That’s not how I operate.”
“Good,” I reply. “Because it would be ridiculously stupid to remove the buffer between our alliance and Maven Calore. And you aren’t a stupid person, are you, Premier?”
That cat smile widens. He nods.
“Won’t it be good for the little prince to see something different?” Davidson cocks one manicured gray eyebrow. “A country without a king?”
See that it’s possible. That the crown, the throne—they aren’t his duty. He doesn’t have to be a king or a prince. Not if he doesn’t want to be.
But I think he wants to be.
“Yes” is all I can say. And all I can hope for. After all, didn’t I first meet Tiberias in a dark tavern, where he pretended to be someone else so he could see what the world really looked like? See what should change?
Davidson leans back, clearly finished with me. I do the same. “Consider your request granted,” he says. “And consider yourself lucky we have to return to Piedmont first anyway, or else I might not be so amenable to retrieving a metric ton of Barrows.”
He almost winks.
I almost smile.
Halfway to the barracks, I realize I’m being followed through the fortress city. Footsteps trail close behind, nimble and even along the winding street. The fluorescent lights cast two shadows, mine and someone else’s. I tense, uneasy, but not afraid. Corvium is crawling with coalition soldiers, and if any of them are stupid enough to wish me harm, they’re welcome to try. I can protect myself. Sparks ripple beneath my skin, easy to unleash. Ready to loose.
I turn on my boot heel, hoping to catch whoever it is off guard. It doesn’t work.
Evangeline stops smoothly, expectant, her arms crossed and dark, perfect eyebrows raised. She still wears her opulent armor, the kind better suited to a king’s court than a battleground. No crown, though. She used to spend her free time fashioning tiaras and circlets from whatever metal she could get her hands on. But now, when she has every right to wear one, her head is bare.
“I trailed you through two sectors of the city, Barrow,” she says, tossing back her head. “I thought you were supposed to be some kind of thief?”
My incessant laugh from earlier tugs again, and I can’t help but smirk, huffing out a breath. Her bite is familiar, and anything familiar feels like comfort right now. “Never change, Evangeline.”
Her smile flashes, quick as a knife. “Of course not. Why change perfection?”
“Well, please don’t let me keep you from your perfect life, Your Highness,” I tell her. Still smirking, I step aside, clearing the way for her. Calling her bluff. Evangeline Samos did not seek me out to trade insults. Her behavior in the council chamber made her motives very clear.
She blinks, and a bit of her boldness melts. “Mare,” she says, softer now. Pleading. But her pride won’t let her do much more than almost beg. That damn Silver spine. She doesn’t know how to bend. No one ever taught her, and no one would ever allow her to try.
Despite everything between us, a sliver of pity arrows through my heart. Evangeline was raised in the Silver court, born to scheme and climb, made to fight as fiercely as she guards her mind. But her mask is far from perfect, especially compared to Maven’s. After months of reading shadows in his eyes, I see Evangeline’s thoughts reflected in hers clear as daylight. Pain radiates from her. Longing. She has the feel of a predator in a cage with no chance of escaping. Part of me wants to leave her trapped. Let her realize exactly what kind of life she used to want. I want to believe I’m not that cruel. And I’m not stupid. Evangeline Samos would make a powerful ally, and if I have to buy her with whatever she wants, so be it.
“If you’re looking for sympathy, keep walking,” I mutter, gesturing again to the empty street. A useless threat, but she bristles anyway. Her eyes, already black, darken. The gibe works, pushing her into a corner, forcing her to speak.
“I don’t want an inch of it from you,” Evangeline snaps. The needle edges of her armor sharpen with her anger. “And I know I don’t deserve it either.”
“Definitely not,” I snort. “So you want help, then? An excuse not to go to Montfort with the rest of our happy crew?”