Broken Throne (Red Queen #4.5)(102)

I almost smile at the sight of her fingers.

While her clothes are rather plain, her hands are laden with rings of all kinds, in every metal, sharp and ready to bend to her will. Knowing Evangeline, she has other metals hidden all over her body. Even here, in a meeting of diplomats, she’s prepared to cut throats if she has to.

I meet her charcoal eyes and she smirks, never bowing her head. Once, that look might have filled me with dread. Now I feel only assurance. Evangeline is a mighty ally, no matter what we started as. Though she will never return the gesture, I bend my neck toward her and nod. Ptolemus is good enough to keep his head bowed, eyes averted from me. I want nothing to do with my brother’s killer, even as he repents for that sin and so many others.

As I watch, Radis turns in his seat, looking over his shoulder to whisper something to Evangeline and Ptolemus. Their whispers hiss, the words inaudible. The three Silvers remain in close confidence, and it doesn’t bother the premier at all. Their alliance has been cemented—even I received word of the Samos abdication and Evangeline’s pledge to Montfort.

I’m still looking at them when the last delegation enters the library, all of them organized and moving as one. Ada Wallace leads, her eyes on the room. She glances back and forth, noting every face and committing it to her perfect memory. She looks the same as I remember. Skin like deep gold, dark brown hair, eyes too kind for all she has seen and all she remembers. As one of the States’ representatives, she wears a neat black uniform and a pin at her collar. The three interlocking rings are easy to decipher—red for Reds, white for newbloods, silver for Silvers. I can think of no one better to serve the Nortan States and their campaign. My hands close on the edge of the table, keeping me in place. If we were anywhere else, I would hug her.

Julian Jacos follows on her heels, his clothing spare but fine. The sight of him releases some tension in my chest. He looks odd without his colors, wearing black instead of his usual yellow. For once, he seems quite dashing, and younger somehow. Unburdened. Happy, even. It looks good on him.

The so-called common Silvers wear the suited uniform too, delineated from Reds and newbloods only by the cold undertone of their skin. To my pleasant surprise, they walk closely with their red-blooded counterparts. As merchants, tradesmen, soldiers, and craftsmen, the common Silvers are not as separate from Reds as the nobles are.

Of course, the nobles from the Nortan States are hardly so modern in their clothing, though they also wear the pin. I know their faces as well as their colors—green for Welle, yellow for Laris. Knowledge of their houses was drilled into me long ago, and I wonder what I’ve forgotten in order to remember such idiocy.

Their house colors are symbol enough. The nobles will not go quietly, or easily. They’ll hold on to their power—and pride—as much as they can.

Anabel Lerolan most of all. She must have cracked open her jewel box for this occasion. Her throat, wrists, and fingers gleam with flame-colored gems, each brighter than the last, easily overshadowing her States pin. I half expect to see a crown on her gray head. But her boldness only goes so far. Instead she clutches the closest thing to a crown she has left.

She walks with Cal on her arm, her elbow hooked in his.

Like Julian, his new appearance suits him. No cape, no crown, no riot of medals or insignia. Just the black uniform, the circle pin, and a red square on his collar to mark him as an officer. His black hair is close-cropped again, in the military style he likes best, and he must have shaved this morning. I can see a fresh cut on his neck, peeking out just over his collar. It’s barely scabbed over, still spotted with silver blood.

There are dark circles around his eyes. He’s exhausted, overworked, and, like Julian, somehow looks happy. I feel the jealous, impulsive urge to ask why.

He isn’t looking at me. And he didn’t say a word.

Under the table, Farley squeezes my wrist in a show of comfort.

I jump at the contact, almost sparking her in the process.

“Easy,” she says without moving her lips.

I mumble an apology, my words lost in the hubbub as the final delegation settles in.

Like me, Cal takes a seat at the table, in the center next to Ada. He always liked being on the front lines.

His grandmother and uncle are no different. The rest of the delegation is evenly split, a mix of Reds and Silvers, nobles I recognize and commoners I don’t. The latter gape at the room. The nobles are less easily impressed, and doing their best to show it.

The premier doesn’t mind either response.

He simply claps his hands together, a signal to us all.

“Shall we begin?”





FOUR

Cal

Don’t look at her, don’t look at her, don’t look at her. Focus, focus, focus.

I’m so wound up I nearly set fire to my chair. Even my grandmother, more fireproof than most, leans away, lest I singe some of her precious silk. It’s not like she’ll be able to procure more, at least not the way she used to as a queen.

If the rest of my delegation notice my unease over Mare, they’re good enough not to say anything. Ada carries on without hesitation, laying her papers out in front of her. They’re covered in neat, meticulous notes ranging from troop numbers to distances between cities. Not that she needs any of it. The information is all in her head already. I get the feeling she just doesn’t want to unsettle anyone. After all, her ability is rare, even among newbloods, and largely unstudied.