Broken Throne (Red Queen #4.5)(116)

I smile wider. “Believe it or not, she gave me her blessing.”

“To go up to the cabin when the weather breaks?” She blanches, her eyes darting to pick out my grandmother in the crowd. “I’m impressed.”

“I haven’t told her about Paradise, but I doubt she’ll care either way. It’s not exactly easy for me to get frostbite.”

“Unless you piss me off and I lock you out in the cold.”

Before I can laugh her off, Bree and Tramy appear on either side of us, almost leering. “Don’t think she won’t,” Bree warns, his brow furrowed.

Tramy bobs his head in agreement. “I almost lost a toe.”

“And you would have deserved it,” Mare snaps, shooing both of them off with an exasperated grin. “So, are you going to make me dance?”

Elsewhere, the string band is in full swing, serenading a floor teeming with dancing couples of various skill. I glance at them, remembering the last time I did this. Mare was there, on Maven’s arm, dancing steps I taught her.

She feels the memory as I do, both of us lost to watching the floor. Her smile fades, as does mine, and we weather the storm of loss and regret together. It’s the only way through it.

“No,” we say in unison, and turn away.

We don’t stay glued. That’s not her way, or mine. She goes where she wishes through the gala, as do I. As much as I hate it, I make the rounds I must, thanking members of the delegations for their time and expertise. Julian does it with me, at least, his smile unfailing. Once or twice, I wonder if he might have to use his singing ability to disentangle us from a particularly loathsome or chatty delegate, but he always manages to spin the conversation without it. Despite all my training for battle, the runs with Mare every morning, and my rigorous workouts, I flag long before she does.

“Unless you’re particularly invested in dessert, I think you can call it a night,” my uncle mutters, his grip gentle on my shoulder. “You look ready to drop.”

“I certainly feel it,” I whisper back. As with training, the ache in me, the exhaustion, is the good kind. This pain accomplished something. “Where’s Mare?”

“I believe she’s scolding one of her brothers for ripping his dress jacket. Unlike you, she has some stamina left.”

She always does.

“Should I get her for you?” he adds, looking over me with concern. “I can let her know you went up early—”

I wave him off. “No, it’s fine, I can wait her out. Bree certainly deserves it, after all the work Gisa put in.”

Julian and I have the same smile, a crooked slash across our faces. He looks at me fully, eyes searching mine. Now I realize how much he looks like my mother, and for a moment, my heart breaks with the need to know her.

“It’s good to see you like this,” Julian says, putting both his hands on my shoulders, forcing me square to him. “I knew you’d find your way back to Mare, but I did have my fears for a while.”

I glance down at my feet, sighing. “Me too,” I say, chewing my lip. “And what about you? Why did you wait so long with Sara?”

Julian blinks. He is rarely caught off guard or unprepared for a question. “We planned to marry,” he says, searching for an answer. “Before my father—”

“I know that. It was in the diary pages. I mean after.” My voice catches and Julian pales. “After what Elara did.”

His lips thin into a grim line. When he speaks, his eyes lose focus, and he descends into memory. “I wanted to. I would have. But Sara wouldn’t let me tie my fate to hers so fully. She didn’t know what Elara would do, if she might decide to finish the job. Have her executed. She couldn’t bear the idea of me dying with her.” His eyes water, and I look away, giving him time to recover as best he can. When I look back, he forces an empty smile. “And now, well, we had a war on, didn’t we?”

I try to give him a smile of my own but fail. “There’s time for everything, isn’t there?”

“Yes. But we always have the choice. To let things get in the way, or to pursue what we really want,” he says quickly, with fervor. “I’m glad you read the diary. I know it could not have been easy.”

To that, I have nothing I can say. Reading the copy of my mother’s diary felt like ripping my flesh apart and sewing it back together. I almost couldn’t do it. But to have even a glimpse of her, no matter how painful—I owed her that much.

Julian’s grip on me lessens and he steps back, fading into the kindly uncle I know—and not the haunted man he is. “I have more to give you, of course. Not from your mother, but other writings, collections, what I can get together from the Royal Archives. Things to help you understand what you came from, both the good and the evil.”

Part of me quails at the thought of the pile Julian might force on me, but I take it in stride. “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

“Cal, it is a rare man who is willing to look at himself and see what truly stands. A rare man indeed.” I try and fail not to blush furiously, heat smoldering in my cheeks. Julian ignores my embarrassment, or he simply doesn’t care. “You would have made a good king, but never great. Not like you are now. A great man who needs no crown.”

My insides twist. How can he know who I am? What I might be in the future? Who I could become?