Broken Throne (Red Queen #4.5)(108)

Everyone else seems to mirror my exhaustion, eager to get out of the room and on to the rest of their schedules. I barely have the energy to think about the trade meeting I’m supposed to attend next, where I will be of no use to anyone. Chairs scrape all over the library, and the delegations mix together. Some gather for comfort and safety—the Nortan Silvers are quick to keep to their own. Others approach each other to talk even more. Julian reaches Davidson with some effort, and the two shake hands for a long moment. I can’t imagine wanting to speak at all after this, but they both carry on without thought.

Cal remains sitting through it all, quietly arranging his papers into a neat pile. Anabel hovers over him, a nanny and a shield. She puts a hand on his arm and whispers something to coax him out of his seat.

I’m still in mine, unable to move. Rooted to the spot despite the swirl of people around me. He doesn’t look my way. Doesn’t take a single step in my direction. But his body angles, shoulders open to me for a long second. Until he turns his back and lets his grandmother lead him from the room, the rest of his delegation moving in his wake.

It’s impossible, but I think he might be more handsome than I remember.

Farley moves in a blur of blond hair and red uniform, catching Ada by the elbow as she goes. The newblood offers a weak smile until Farley pulls her into a warm embrace. The two share a grin of familiarity, a kinship we all gained those weeks at the Notch. Even if Ada is working directly with the States now, and not us, that doesn’t matter.

Still, I can’t move. It feels better to watch. Easier, somehow. My brain might be overloaded after two long hours of not-so-polite argument.

And there’s only one way I know to clear my head.

Well, two, a voice whispers, but he seems busy.

I jolt out of my seat before that voice can betray me and send me scouring the halls in search of a fallen fire king.

Tyton hasn’t left the library yet, allowing some Scarlet Guard officer to talk at him while he stares at the ceiling. I manage to catch his eye as I walk, gesturing for the door. Thankfully, he catches my meaning and politely detangles himself from the chatty Guardsman.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, falling into step beside me. We do our best to navigate the surging crowd of delegates, and I’m careful to keep my face down.

“Think you can get Ella and Rafe down to the training yard?” I reply. Quickly, I decide the trade meeting can survive without me.

He cracks a grin. “We can’t train in the yard, Barrow.”

I smile in return, remembering our weeks at the Piedmont base. Electricons require a lot more room to spar and train, our abilities too destructive when let loose. We trained there at a place called Storm Hill, set away from the sparring circles, with enough open land for even Ella to push herself. I wonder what we must resort to here.

There’s some commotion in the hall—more delegates stopping to talk or whisper. Promises offered, deals proposed. Too much politics for me. The narrower space makes it all the more difficult to move, and I wish I could spark up, just a little, to get through quicker.

“Excuse me,” I grumble sharply, trying to elbow my way around a willow-thin and slow-moving Montfortan representative. She takes no notice of me, locked in conversation with a Red delegate from the Nortan States.

Tyton puts a hand on my back to guide me through. And probably to keep me from shocking anyone. It has a calming effect, his electricity barely brushing against mine.

I relax a little, only to tense up again when a wall of warmth washes over me. My body knows what that means, even if my head doesn’t.

I almost knock right into his shoulder, my forehead inches from him. “Sorry—” I begin, my mouth moving faster than my brain.

He turns, face blank, looking down on me from a familiar height. Everything about him is familiar and inviting. The warmth, the smell, the shadow of stubble along his chin and cheeks, the flickering bronze of his eyes. Every piece of him threatens to draw me in. So I resist, doing my best to ignore how much he affects me. I square my shoulders, clench my jaw, and give him my most polite nod. It must combine into something frightening, because he pulls back, the beginnings of a smile dying on his lips.

“Good to see you, Cal,” I say, courteous as any noble he’s ever known. It seems to amuse him.

Cal nearly bows, but thinks better of it. “And you, Mare. Hello, Tyton,” he adds, reaching around me to shake hands with my companion. “No Kilorn today?”

This is far from the ideal place to speak, let alone have a conversation of any importance. I grit my teeth. Half of me wants to bolt and half of me wants to latch on to him with no intention of letting go.

“He’s prepping for the refugee meeting, as Radis’s aide,” I reply, eager for the easy topic. Anything to distract from the very large elephant in the very narrow hallway.

Cal’s eyebrows rise a little. Like the rest of us, Kilorn has certainly changed. “I suppose I’ll see him in my next meeting, then.”

I can only bob my head, swallowing around the lump in my throat. “Good.”

“Good,” he echoes, almost too fast. His eyes never leave my face. “I’ll see you . . . around?”

“Yes, I’m around.”

How is it possible to sound so stupid in so few words?

Unable to stand there any longer, I give Cal one last nod and seize the opportunity to push through the crowded hallway, leaving him in my wake. He doesn’t protest or try to follow. Tyton says something behind me, probably a proper good-bye, but I keep walking. He can catch up.