Broken Throne (Red Queen #4.5)(105)

The premier nods. “There are always improvements to be made, but yes, we’ve done what we can to build the Republic.”

Davidson is a reasonable man and Julian’s friend. If anyone will understand our plight, it must be him.

“We’re trying to do it all with an ax hanging over our heads,” I bite out. Even here, in a stoic library, I feel the threat of another war looming. It breathes down my neck like a ghost. “The Lakelands are regrouping, the nymph queens will return, and when they do, they’re going to find a country barely able to feed itself, let alone fight through the winter.”

Without looking, Davidson shuffles through his papers and pulls out a page I can’t read from this distance. He doesn’t seem surprised. “Do you have a suggestion?”

I have too many. The list rattles off in my head, quick as gunfire. “We need a quick stabilization of our economy, our national treasury—”

Radis folds his arms. “Whose national treasury, exactly? Your brother’s?”

I do all I can to temper a reaction, keeping my face still and empty. Inside, my heart still bleeds for the brother I lost. Across the room, Mare shifts in her seat, her eyes faraway.

“My country’s,” I reply, stone-voiced. Whatever court Radis grew up in was not as married to etiquette as my own. “Anything still sitting in the vaults of Archeon belongs to our people now.”

From the Scarlet Guard, the Command general Drummer laughs unkindly. His portly face flushes crimson with the effort. “So you’ve been distributing it fairly among the Reds, how lovely.”

I clench my jaw. “We’ve been using it to rebuild—”

“Silver cities,” Drummer mutters under his breath, even as I keep talking.

“—bolster wages, improve conditions for Red soldiers, improve the tech cities, maintain the harvest—”

General Swan looks at me over steepled hands. Her smile is tight. “Then it sounds like you’re doing quite well.”

It takes all my restraint not to laugh in her face.

“We’re going to institute price controls throughout the States, to avoid price gouging of food and other resources—”

I know the next voice in my bones. She’s thunder in broad daylight.

“From the Reds now in full control of what they produce. Farmers. Factory workers.”

Mare crosses her arms tightly, almost painfully so, in an effort to shield herself from the scrutiny of the room. She doesn’t enjoy things like this. Never has. Even if she’s good at it, never backing down. I stare back at her across the floor. The yards feel like a canyon and an inch, too far and too close.

For her, I have no quick response; the words die in my throat.

On my left, one of the Silvers speaks in my place. Welle, a former governor, has a voice like honey, too sweet and sticky. “Someone else owns the tools they’re using, Miss Barrow,” he says with punchable smugness.

Mare doesn’t hesitate. “They are welcome to use them,” she snaps. This man used to rule the village she lived in, and all the land she’d ever known. “What else?” she adds, her eyes flying back to challenge me.

It almost feels like sparring with her again. I admit, it thrills me.

“The Silver wealth of the noble families—”

“Should be used to even the field,” she snaps again, but I hardly mind. I’d take it all, just to speak with her. With a burst of warmth, I realize this is our first conversation in months. Even if I can barely get a word in. “That money was earned on the backs of Red workers for generations. Tens of generations.”

You’re not wrong, I want to say. But what you’re asking can’t be done.

Still in his seat, Julian puts a hand on my arm, motioning for the floor. “You need the Silver nobles placated,” he says. Mare and the Scarlet Guard turn their fiery resolve on him, each of them like a lit ember. “We need them with us. If any attempt is made to seize their assets now, I fear the bottom falls out, and the Nortan States die before they’ve even begun to live.”

Farley flicks her wrist like she’s batting away a pesky insect. “Because a few Silver lords and ladies lose their jewels? Please.”

“We share borders with Piedmont and the Lakelands, General,” I reply, doing my best not to sound condescending.

“Surrounded by Silver enemies, what a foreign concept,” Farley snaps back.

I sigh in exasperation. “I can hardly control geography of the world, Farley,” I reply, to a low hiss of amused whispers.

My uncle’s grip tightens on my arm. “Even now, defecting to the southern princes or the Lakelander queen is still an option for many noble families,” Julian says, his voice taking on an apologetic tone. “Some of them did in the war, some never returned, and others are waiting for the excuse to do so again. We can’t give them that.”

“There will be adjusted rates of taxation,” I add quickly. “We’ve agreed. Nobles will be paying their fair share.”

Farley’s response is acid. “Sounds like everything is their fair share.”

Again, I wish I could agree. I wish what Reds deserve from us were within the realm of possibility.

To my surprise, Radis comes to my defense. “The Nortan delegation isn’t wrong.” He adjusts the already immaculate collar of his green-and-white suit. While Davidson is all stillness, impossible to read, Radis likes the spotlight and basks in it. Both are performers, charmers, intent on winning hearts—and votes. No king ever had to be so deft or charismatic with so many. “Allowances must be made. We did the same here, all those years ago.”