Broken Throne (Red Queen #4.5)(87)

He catches my eye and the corner of his mouth twitches, the best smile he can muster.

I do the same, ducking my head.

How far the two of us have come from Queenstrial.

Cal isn’t my future anymore, and for that I am eternally grateful.

It’s the uncle who worries me, making my stomach swoop.

Jacos stands as he always does, looking small at Cal’s shoulder. The singer stares at the floor, unwilling to meet my gaze or my brother’s. I can’t tell if it’s guilt or pity guiding him. After all, he killed our father. Sometimes Jacos is in my nightmares, his teeth fanged, his tongue like a snake. So different from the bookish, unassuming reality.

When we approach, Julian is good enough to excuse himself, head still bowed. Only Wren gives him a smile as we pass, small as it is. One of her cousins is his companion, and even with the Nortan court in ruins, the bonds of the old nobility still hold tight.

Ptolemus reaches Cal first, clasping his hand firmly as he offers the warmest smile he can muster. No mean feat for my brother. Cal responds in kind, lowering his chin.

“Thank you for doing this, Ptolemus,” he says, one abdicated king to another. Cal looks odd in his plain jacket, without a uniform dripping with medals. Especially in comparison to my brother, all dressed up in his colors and armor.

Tolly releases his grip. “And thank you for coming. It wasn’t necessary.”

“Of course it is,” Cal replies, his tone light. “It’s an exclusive club you’re joining. I have to be on hand to welcome you into the Abdicators.”

My lip curls. All the same, I take Cal’s arm, pulling him into a stiff but quick embrace. “Please don’t start calling us that,” I growl.

“I think it has a nice ring to it,” Elane interjects. She tips her head, finding the light. Everyone else looks skeletal or garish beneath the harsh fluorescent of the lighting gear, but of course she doesn’t. “Good to see you, Cal.”

“And you, Elane. All of you,” he adds, his eyes sweeping over me to Wren. They keep moving, searching the room. Hunting for someone else.

But Mare Barrow isn’t here.

“Are you all the States sent to witness?” I ask, and he looks glad for the question. Happy to change the subject, happy for a distraction.

“No, the other representatives are with General Farley,” he replies. “Two Red organizers, the newblood Ada Wallace, and one of the former governor Rhambos’s children.” With a twist of his fingers, he points to the far side of the throne room. I don’t bother to turn. I’ll see them in a moment. And truthfully, I don’t want to look and find Diana Farley staring daggers at Ptolemus. My stomach twists the way it usually does whenever I’m near the Red general. Stop it, I tell myself. I’m already afraid of the cameras. I don’t have the energy to be afraid of her too.

“Wren said you wouldn’t be speaking . . . ?” I say, my voice trailing off.

“Correct.” Cal crosses his arms over his chest and settles into a stance I know well. He’s battle ready. “We won’t be on the broadcast either. Sends the wrong message.”

His logic isn’t difficult to follow. “Ah. You want the country to see us do this of our own volition. No sword hanging over our heads.” I wince as soon as the words are out of my mouth, and so does Cal. I imagine he’s thinking of the moment a sword cut through his father’s neck. “Sorry, bad turn of phrase.”

He waves me off, though his face pales. “We’re just here for support, mostly,” Cal mutters.

I blink at him, brow furrowed. “For us?” I scoff.

He shakes his head. “For them.” His eyes dart across the throne room, toward the far end, still empty of equipment. A small crowd waits by the windows, packed tightly together like a flock of brightly colored birds. Suddenly I feel like I might vomit, and I search for a familiar silhouette, a panther on her heels. But my mother isn’t with the Silver nobles.

Elane is not so lucky. She draws in a shaking breath when she spots her father.

Jerald Haven speaks quietly with the nobles of the Rift, and a few of old Norta too. None of House Samos that I can see, but I recognize Lord General Laris, an ally of my father’s and the former commander of the Nortan Air Fleet. None of them will look at us. They refuse. They don’t approve of what we’re doing, but they certainly can’t stop us either.

Elane looks away first, her face clear. No blush, no paling cheeks. As far as I know, she hasn’t seen her father in months. They’ve spoken only in a few letters, and those were short, terse, and on Jerald’s end downright insulting. He wanted her to come home, and she always refused. Eventually he stopped asking, and stopped writing.

The sight of him incenses me, knowing how much pain he caused her. As usual, Cal is woefully bad at reading women, and he mistakes my anger. The former king nudges my arm.

“It’s all right. Don’t let them scare you. The same was done to me, when I abdicated,” he says, his voice low and thick. “My grandmother couldn’t speak to me for days.”

I resist the very familiar urge to roll my eyes at Tiberias Calore.

Wren raises an eyebrow. “But she came around?” The hope in her voice is small, and ill advised. I know enough of Anabel Lerolan to understand that.

Cal almost laughs. “Not really, no. She accepts it, though. She doesn’t have a choice. The Burning Crown dies with me, and there will be no other to rebuild the throne I broke.”