Broken Throne (Red Queen #4.5)(98)

Nanabel sniffs, wrinkling her nose. “It’s an odd time to be taking a vacation.”

“I believe the term is honeymoon,” Julian says. With a deliberate motion, he reaches for Sara’s free hand, and their fingers intertwine. “We’d like to be married here, quietly and soon. If that suits everyone.”

If that suits everyone. At first my grandmother scoffs, and then her lips spread into a true smile.

As for me, I feel like my face might split in two. It almost hurts to smile like this, so broadly and without abandon. Happiness hasn’t been familiar to me in the last few months, but it courses through me now. Quickly, I cross the room and hug them both, nearly spilling all our drinks.

“It’s about time,” I snicker in Julian’s ear.

“I agree,” Sara murmurs, her eyes shining.

When dinner comes, it is unsurprisingly marvelous, and another display of the bountiful Free Republic. There’s bison steak, of course, as well as fresh trout, salmon, fried potatoes, three kinds of greens, a cheesy soup, and fresh-baked bread, followed by huckleberries and cream for dessert and a honeysuckle tea. The food must have been brought in from every corner of the Republic, from here in Ascendant to the northwest coast strewn with mountains and a foreign ocean. Everything is perfectly prepared. Certainly the rest of the Nortan delegation have received the same treatment in their rooms, especially the Silver nobles. On the flight they openly complained about the state of their kitchens at home now, what with Reds being free to pursue work where they please, as well as the war shortages. A few good meals in the Republic might be just the kind of convincing they need.

Between the whiskey and the hearty meal, Julian, Sara, and Nanabel are quick to retire to their bedrooms, leaving me to stare over the table that’s now in disarray. It’s a battlefield of empty plates, bread crumbs, and drained teacups, with knives and forks stained with sauce like swords in blood. It makes my hair stand on end. Though a servant will certainly clear away the scraps sometime in the night, I can’t stop myself from gathering it all together into some form of order. I try to be quiet as I stack plates and cups, and it makes the process slow going.

It gives my hands something to do, my mind something to focus on that isn’t her.

Julian wants to get married here because everyone he values is here. Me, the premier, and Mare. Certainly he knows she’ll be back for the gala, if she isn’t already. Davidson must have mentioned it in his letters, between long-winded ruminations on the Montfort archives in Vale or Horn Mountain. And by the way, your former student will be back in town. Best catch her before she traipses off into the wilderness again.

The last plate clatters as I drop it an inch, but it doesn’t break.

I should go to sleep. I’m weary in my bones, and I need to be sharp for the days ahead. But instead of heading for my own bedchamber, I find myself standing on the terrace, watching my breath cloud in the cold. I naturally run hot, and my breath almost looks like steam.

If Davidson really wants to impress the nobles, he should just tell them to look up.

Indeed, the stars above the mountains are like nothing I’ve ever seen in my country or any other. Even with the light pollution from the city below, they are magnificent, brilliant, and vast. Leaning on the terrace balustrade, I crane my neck to see out and over the trees. The light from the estate doesn’t reach far into the forest, illuminating only the first few rows of pines before their branches blend into darkness. The sky looks even more striking against the peak, bald of vegetation, the early snows glowing beneath the starlight.

I understand why people want to stay here. Despite contributing so much to the war effort in the east, Montfort still looks untouched by any of the ravages I’ve seen. A paradise compared to the hell I came from. But a paradise bought with another war, with equal bloodshed, and more effort than I can comprehend. The Free Republic was not always so, and is still rife with its own flaws, hidden as they may seem.

If I were a Lakelander, it might be comforting to ask some distant god for guidance now, for a blessing, for the power to make everyone see what we can accomplish if given the will and the chance. But I believe in no gods, and I pray to nothing.

My bare hands start to go numb; the cold has that effect even on someone like me. I don’t bother clicking my bracelets to draw forth flame. I’ll go inside in a second and chase some sleep. I just need one more bracing gasp of cold air, and one more glance at the stars overhead, infinite as the future.

Two floors down and maybe twenty yards away, someone else has the same idea.

The door creaks slightly on old hinges as she steps out into the chilly air, already shivering. She’s careful to shut it softly behind her so as not to wake anyone. Her terrace is bigger than mine, wrapping around the corner to face down into the city. She keeps to the darker edges, staring into the trees as she tightens a blanket around her shoulders. Her frame is small and lean, her motions smooth with lethal grace. More warrior than dancer. The dim lights of a sleeping mansion aren’t enough to illuminate her face. I don’t need them to. Despite the distance and the darkness, I know.

Even without her lightning, Mare Barrow still manages to strike me through.

She raises her chin to the sky, and I see her as she was when we found her in that disgusting room, surrounded by blood, both silver and red. There was Silent Stone all around them. She was sprawled, her hair matted and wet, her eyes shut against the gloom. Next to her, Maven’s eyes were open. So blue, so wide. So empty. He was dead and I thought her gone too. I thought I’d lost them both, lost them to each other one last time. My brother would have liked that. He took her once before and he would have taken her forever if he could have.