Mom, Dad, Shade, Bree, Gisa, Trammy...no...NO, NO PLEASE DON'T GO—
I swim through the vat of Mare Barrow's memories, her nightmares, and her very person. The little lightning girl is out for the count, and her mind lies open for me to prod at and explore.
This is impossible, I find myself whispering.
This is wonderful, I find myself thinking.
My hold on her snaps, much to my annoyance, and I take a step back. Her mind is alert now. I watch her sit up groggily and moan. After a moment, she grips the cage and rises to her feet.
"I'd bow, but I might fall over," she says.
I look at her, amused. They caught a feisty one. She finally realizes what she said, and a look of terror falls upon her face. Her mind is weak and easy to conquer, and I barely hold back a sigh of pleasure as I dip back into its depths and force her to her knees.
"That looks like a bow to me," I reply, putting a finger to my lips.
She falls forward into the bars of the cell and her fist clenches around the steel. I consider tearing her hand away, as amusing as her struggle is. I wouldn't want her to suddenly lash out.
"What are you doing to me?" she croaks.
"Not much of anything anymore. But this—" I walk over and place my finger on her temple, barely fighting down a sneer at the feel of her sweat. I will a wave of pain into her, and I grin as she falls against the bars. "This is to keep you from doing something silly," I add.
"Like standing on my own two feet?" she manages to spit, despite the obvious strain it puts on her throat. I feel her exhaustion as if it's my own. The feeling irritates me; one of the downsides of my ability. Although I manage to ignore the minds around me, it always feels like they're the ones invading me, not the other way around.
"Like electrocute something," I spit back. She looks at me, dumb as a mule. I nearly roll my eyes. Finally, she catches up, and her face contorts in horror, the feeling rolling off of her in waves. As much as I hate to admit it, I reciprocate the feeling. There are whispers among the royal scientists about mutations and the spreading of power, but never would I expect to have a gifted Red plop down in my own arena. Well, I think with a sneer, at least it got me out of Queenstrial. Looking at that Samos girl—watching her show off—irritates me. She's a court favourite, of course, but much too flashy, much too loud. A queen must be able to blend with the shadows.
I force my eyes shut in an attempt to keep my mind from wandering. "You are not Silver. Your parents are Red, you are Red, and your blood is red." I take a few steps closer, the girl's thoughts swarming mine like wasps. "You are a miracle, Mare Barrow, an impossibility. Something even I can't understand, and I've seen all of you."
"That was you?!" she shouts, a hand coming up to cradle her head. "You were in my mind, my memories, my nightmares?!"
The irritation is a bomb now, ready to blow. She's even dumber than I thought. What does a 'whisper' mean to you, girl?
"If you know someone's fear, you know them, and I had to know what it is I'm were dealing with."
"I'm not an it."
What attitude! I nearly laugh. She really wants to have her tongue cut out, doesn't she?
"What you are remains to be seen, but be thankful for one thing, little lightning girl," I snap, staring at her through the bars. I remove her legs, her torso, leaving her unable to move. She squirms in discomfort. "You did that in front of hundreds of Silvers, people who will ask questions, people with power," I whisper in her ear. "That is the only reason you are still alive."
In response, she tries to conjure up her cursed lightning, but I warp her mind in pain before she can even lift a finger. A burst of laughter escapes my lips. The girl is a nuisance, but a fun toy too...and maybe even a tool. The nobles, those stupid aristocrats will believe anything.
But the excitement that my idea gives me soon wanes as I remember that I must convince Tiberias to agree. The thought gives me a headache. Reasoning with him is like convincing a cat to bathe, and I tend to avoid it as much as possible. But I must, for he is the king and am simply his royal wife, meant to look pretty by his side and give him heirs. It is what I was raised to do, what I fought for in my own Queenstrial, what I try to forget every day of my life.
...
I am surprised to find him in my chambers, looking through the many textbooks kept on my desk. His presence is an intrusion and I can't help but bristle in the doorway.
"Tiberias, what are you looking for?" I manage to say, instead of screaming like I want to.
"The girl." He looks up at me with his pitiful eyes, and I nearly spit. "I assume you took care of her properly?"
"The girl is conscious," I snap. "Drugged and submissive, but conscious. Why do you care?"
His puppy-dog look turns hard. Ah—he doesn't like it when I take on such a tone. But he knows by now that I'm not his precious Coriane, I will never melt in his arms, and he's nothing but a phantom to me—
"Julian has supplied me with her files," he says, gesturing to the pile of papers on my desk. I frown. "She was quite the troublemaker back home."
"Doesn't surprise me."
"But her blood truly is red—the royal scientists matched it up with her DNA. Could it be...could it be true what they say?"
I shrug. "They've supplied ample evidence over the years that indicates the possibility; perhaps it's high time that you start taking their warnings to heart."
Tiberias sighs. "Would you happen to have the fourth volume of the Silver History textbooks?"
My gaze flits over to my beloved books, and I cringe at the thought of him touching them. They had been a gift from my father, one that I would never forget.
"You won't find anything in there," I say. Tiberias opens his mouth, but I am quick to interrupt him. "Volume Four focuses on the separation of Norta's noble families and the growth of the houses." I look down at my hands. "If there is anything of the written word about gifted Reds, I have yet to know about it. There's nothing in any of those books; I've read them six times each, at least."
His brow furrows. "Then what do you suggest we do? The court is already in fits. It won't be long before they start becoming agitated."
I nearly scoff. So for once, the great King Tiberias has no ideas. He must consult his royal wife about a political matter—he depends on me. The thought must be driving him mad. "It wouldn't be hard to pass her off as a long-lost noble," I say, looking up at the ceiling. "The biggest challenge would be getting such a savage to behave like a civilized person, but I think it can be done."
"And how? The only house with such abilities is dead."
"Didn't Ethan Titanos have a daughter?"
Tiberias blinks. "Yes, the young Mareena—may she rest in peace—but she has been gone for over fifteen years. You can't just make the court believe that she's risen from the dead."
I ignore the pride that threatens to light my face. "By some mistake, Lady Titanos was raised by Reds and got past the authorities into the palace. She was given a lowly job as a server, until her flitting powers revealed her true silver heritage, the lost daughter of Ethan and Nora Titanos." I smile, looking down at my nails. "Decent cover story?"
Tiberias looks up at me, and his interest surprises me. "Yes, that would work..." He begins pacing around in his usual fashion, and I perch myself upon the edge of my bed. "But that isn't enough to distract the citizens from this infernal rebellion."
I purse my lips, rubbing along the wedding band on my finger. "Make her a princess. Have two royal weddings instead of one. Maven wouldn't mind a wife, I'm sure." My cheeks feel warm with excitement.
At the mention of my son's name, Tiberias has a distant look, as if he struggles to find Maven's face in his memories. Genuine sadness forms like a lump in my belly, but I smile it away, rising to my feet.
"Such events always seem to raise a country's morale." My smile turns coy. "Ours sure did."
A look of agitation veils his face. "Yes, that would..." He takes a deep breath, "That would work well. It's a good plan." He looks at me, his eyes wide and on fire and dare I say, intimidating. "Thank you for your wisdom, Elara."
A small squeak escapes my lips as he takes my hand, planting a kiss on the back. I try to force down my surprise and embarrassment at having displayed it. My cheeks are flushed, and I look away indignantly. "It's nothing, dear, but my duty as queen."
...
"Tell me it isn't true!" Maven shouts, backing away from me in exasperation. "I don't—I can't—"
I roll my eyes, setting my brush back down on my vanity. My hair falls over my shoulders in loose waves, refreshing after a day of tight updos. "Maven, you knew this day would come."
"I don't need to marry. I'm not the heir and I'm only—"
"It is your duty as the prince to maintain the peace in our nation," I reply. Despite my exhaustion, I keep my voice level and calm. My patience seems infinite when it comes to Maven.
"Why doesn't Cal marry her?!"
I sigh, putting a hand on his shoulder. "He will marry Evangeline to please the court. Queenstrial and two royal weddings is guaranteed peace, at least amongst the Silvers. As for the Reds...well, the girl could help us sniff out the foolish rebels and kill them off at the source."
Maven makes a face. "Why must I be involved in your political plans?"
"Stop whining." I pat him on the head. "You're very annoying when you whine. Maven, this is for both your future and the future of Norta."
He looks up at me, making the puppy-dog eyes that he uses to get his way. "Mother, I don't want to."
That act always works on Elara Merandus, his mother, but it won't work on the queen. I narrow my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest. "Maven, don't you want to be king?"
Maven cringes, as he usually does when I mention the throne. "I'm not the heir," he repeats.
I place a hand on his cheek, brushing back a lock of his hair. He shivers. "This is your chance," I whisper, keeping his gaze focused on mine. "You can take down the Reds and Cal and your Father..."
"No, Mother."
"You want to. I can tell—it's everything you've ever wanted. I know you like I the back of my hand."
Maven looks down, and his fists clench. "But it's wrong," he mumbles. "And I—"
I kiss his forehead gently, dipping into his mind and whispering words of comfort and encouragement, shedding light on the feelings of hatred and envy that I knew were in his heart. "You would make the most wonderful king in the world, and this girl is the perfect tool to help you achieve this."
He stares at me, a distant look in his eyes.
"Don't you think, dear?"
"How, then?" He snaps out of his daze, and his anger returns. "Do I befriend her, make her like me, romance her—"
"Gain her trust. She might know something about the rebels. If she invites you to go anywhere, accompany her. If she gets you inside, swear fealty to them. Tell me anything you find out." I lower my voice. "And out there, in front of them, pretend to know nothing. When your father tells you to marry her, act shocked and indignant," I whisper.
He looks uncomfortable—guilty, even. My son has always been so innocent... "Maven, you're growing up," I say, pulling him into my embrace. It feels warm and natural, having him in my arms. It's the only happiness that I find in the barren walls of the palace. "I won't always be there for you...when I'm gone, do you really want to live in your brother's shadow for the rest of your life?"
He shakes his head. "No."
I sigh. "Darling, I know how hard it's been for you since that boy died..."
"Thomas," Maven interrupts me, moving away. He looks down at his feet. "You let him die."
The accusing tone in his voice makes my heart plummet. I hate it when he's angry with me. "His life wasn't worth yours."
He shakes his head, walking towards the door. As much as I don't want him to leave, I know he needs his space. The uncertainty and anger and outright disappointment were rolling off of him in waves. "Maven?"
He turns to me, his expression as cold as ice. The look chills me to the core but also excites me to no end. It was the face of my determined little boy. "Yes?" he asks.
"I love you. No matter what happens with the court, even if you fail—that will never change."
I sense warmth in his thoughts now, and he returns my smile on his way out. "I love you too, Mother."
...
The throne room is so quiet, you could hear a pin drop. For once, Tiberias isn't tapping his nails obnoxiously on the armrest, and he looks apprehensive. I sense his anxiety, nearly reflecting my own.
The Sentinels are the first to enter, lining up beside the door with their guns at the ready, in case the little lighting girl does anything rash. Lucas Samos walks in with said girl at his side, ever the gentleman. Out of the sea of arrogance, Lucas is one of the few admirable members of House Samos, clever enough to know his place in our court. His witty banter sometimes gets a chuckle out of me.
The girl comes to stand before us, her head up and her gaze level with mine. We stay in a silent tug-of-war—although the girl knows to kneel, she stands with defiance in her thoughts.
"You will kneel," I say.
"I will not," she replies, and I feel myself flushing with irritation.
"Do you enjoy your cell, girl?" Tiberias cocks his head, smiling. He can't resist feeling superior in the faces of the lowly. My fists clench.
"What do you want with me?" the girl croaks. She looks so pitiful and small—I nearly feel sorry for her. It must be awful to stand beneath the towering king of Norta.
"I told you, she's red through and through—"
He shakes me off. Fury claws at my spine, desperate to be unleashed, but I force a smile and fold my hands in front of me. Arrogant little—
"What I want concerning you is impossible," Tiberias snaps.
The girl's thoughts flood with arrogance. "Well, I'm not sorry you can't kill me."
Tiberias chuckles. "They didn't say you were quick." He takes out her files and throws them to the floor. They flutter around like a snowstorm. "Mare Molly Barrow, born November seventeenth, 302 of the new era, to Daniel and Ruth Barrow," he announces, not once glancing at the files. "You have no occupation and are scheduled for conscription on your next birthday. You attend school sparingly, your academic test scores are low, and you have a list of offences that would land you in jail in most cities. Thievery, smuggling, resisting arrest, but to name but a few. Altogether you are poor, rude, immoral, unintelligent, impoverished, bitter, stubborn, and a blight upon your village and my kingdom."
Correct, correct, correct. I feel like a schoolteacher grading tests.
"And yet, you are also something else I cannot fathom. You are Red and Silver both, a peculiarity with deadly consequences you cannot understand, so what am I to do with you?"
"You could let me go. I wouldn't say a word."
I nearly double over. Where did this girl come from? Never have I met someone so absolutely clueless! "And what about the High Houses? Will they keep silent as well? Will they forget the little lightning girl in the red uniform?" I laugh.
Tiberias turns pensive, as if he was questioning my solution.
"You know my advice, Tiberias," I say, "And it will solve both our problems."
"Yes, Elara." He looks up at me and nods. I bat my lashes. "We cannot kill you, Mare Barrow."
Yet, I chide in my mind. If she ruins this, I won't hesitate to end her myself.
"So we are going to hide you in plain sight where we can watch you, protect you, and attempt to understand you."
"Father!" Cal shouts, and I nearly jump. The silence of the room is so soothing, but of course, the firecracker has to destroy my inner peace. Damn Coriane's son...
Maven grabs Cal's arm and pulls him back in line. My stepson's disruption does not faze the king. "You are no longer Mare Barrow, a Red daughter of the Stilts," Tiberias says.
"Then who am I?"
The speech already plays over in my mind before Tiberias even opens his mouth. "Your father was Ethan Titanos, general of the Iron Legion, killed when you were an infant. A soldier, a Red man, took you for his own, and raised you in the dirt, never telling you about your true parentage. You grew up believing that you were nothing, and now, thanks to chance, you are made whole again. You are Silver, a lady of a lost High House, a noble of great power, and soon, a princess of Norta."
The girl's mouth bobs open like that of a fish. "A Silver—a princess?"
Maven's wife, my son's bride. "You will marry my son Maven and you'll do it without putting a toe out of line," he says for me. I glance down at my feet, biting my tongue. Mare Barrow's face contorts in confusion and shock, her thoughts screaming protests. I try not to feel insulted and protective. Was it not a dream come true for a lowly brat to marry a prince, the future—
"I don't understand—" Maven says suddenly, and my gaze sets on his staged reservations. No doubt that his real feelings help, but I can't deny that he's quite the little actor. "She's—why?"
"Quiet. You will obey," I snap, and Maven takes a step back. Good. Act indignant, but not too much so—never overdo it.
"This seems like a bit…much," the girl says, "You don't want to make me a lady, let alone a princess." The desperation in her voice matches the cries from her mind.
Tiberias smiles. "Oh, but I do, my dear. For the first time in your rudimentary little life, you have a purpose. Here we are, in the early stages of a badly timed rebellion, with terrorist groups or freedom fighters, or whatever the hell these idiotic Red fools call themselves, blowing things up in the name of equality."
"The Scarlet Guard," she cuts in. "They bombed—"
"The capital, yes." Tiberias shrugs. I, on the other hand, am not anywhere near as indifferent. So the girl does know something. I search her thoughts for any information, but the slightest trace of it has already faded away. I huff. She's good at guarding herself when she wants to.
"And you," Tiberias continues, leaning forward. "You might be able to help us stop there from being any more."
"By marrying—sorry what was your name again?"
Maven flushes in anger, and I nearly do the same. "My name is Maven."
She knows something, I say to him, and he nods ever-so-slightly—our little signal. Act defeated. Stupid. You don't understand. Get her to lower her guard.
Maven looks up, confusion flooding his face. "And I still don't understand," he says, like a slow child.
"What my father is trying to say is that she represents an opportunity for us," Cal says, and I can't help but sneer at the condescending tone in his voice. "If the Reds see her, Silver by blood but Red by nature, raised up with us, they can be placated. It's like an old fairy tale, a commoner becoming a princess. She's their champion. They can look to her instead of terrorists. She's a distraction."
And my key to that infernal guard. I glance over at Tiberias, who nods approvingly.
"And if we get the story right, the High Houses will be satisfied too. You're the lost daughter of a war hero. What better honour can we give you?"
"This is not a request, Lady Titanos," Tiberias says. "You will go through with this and you will do it properly."
I gather my skirt in one hand and step closer to her, peering down my nose. "You will live here, as is the custom for royal brides. Every day will be scheduled at my digression, and you will be tutored in everything and anything possible to make you suitable. You will be scrutinized. From now on you will live on the edge of a knife. One false step, one wrong word, and you will suffer for it."
"What about my life—?"
I scoff. "What life? Girl, you've fallen head over heels into a miracle."
Cal's thoughts suddenly assault my mind, full of disdain and disapproval. I resist the urge to slap him. "She means her family. Mare—the girl has a family."
"Oh, that," Tiberias huffs, plopping back down onto his throne. "I suppose we we'll give them an allowance to keep them quiet."
"I want my brothers brought home from the war. And my friend, Kilorn Warren. Don't let the legions take him either," she says.
It takes a moment for Tiberias to respond, and his thoughts echo mine. What are a few Red soldiers amongst a sea of disposable warriors? "Done."
Done. The word is so simple and succinct, and yet it means everything. My plan is working. The girl is in my grasp, and so are the guard and the court and the crown.