We wind our way down from the gallery, keeping to the outer walkways so as to better enjoy the spring weather. Most of the interior salons look out on the walkway, their windows polished plate glass or their doors thrown open to catch the spring breeze. Samos guards line one, and they nod their heads when we approach, paying deference to their prince and princess. I smile at the gesture, but their presence unsettles me.
The Samos guards oversee a violent operation: the making of Silent Stone. Even Ptolemus pales as we pass. The smell of blood overpowers us both for a moment, filling the air with sharp iron. Two Arvens sit inside the salon, chained to their seats. Neither is here willingly. Their house is allied to Maven, but we have need for Silent Stone, and so they are here. Wren hovers between them, noting their progress. Both their wrists have been slit open, and they bleed freely into large buckets. When the Arvens reach their limit, Wren will heal them up and stimulate their blood production, all to begin again. Meanwhile, the blood will be mixed with cement, hardened into the deadly blocks of ability-suppressing stone. For what, I don’t know, but Father certainly has plans for it. A prison, maybe, like the one Maven built for Silvers and newbloods both.
Our grandest receiving chamber, the aptly named Sunset Stretch, is on the western slope. I suppose now it’s technically our throne room as well. As we approach, courtiers of my father’s newly created nobility dot the way, thickening with every forward step. Most are Samos cousins, elevated by our declaration of independence. A few of closer blood, my father’s siblings and their children, claim princely titles for themselves, but the rest remain lords and ladies, content as always to live off my father’s name and my father’s ambitions.
Bright colors stand out among the usual black and silver, an obvious indication of today’s assembly. Ambassadors from the other houses in open revolt have come to treat with the kingdom of the Rift. To kneel. House Iral will argue. Attempt to bargain. The silks think their secrets can buy them a crown, but power is the only currency here. Strength the only coin. And they surrendered both by entering our territory.
Haven has come as well, the shadows basking in sunlight, while the Laris windweavers in yellow keep close to each other. The latter have already given their allegiance to my father, and they bring with them the might of the Air Fleet, having seized control of most air bases. I care more about House Haven, though. Elane won’t say it, but she misses her family. Some have pledged loyalty to Samos already, but not all, including her own father, and it tears at her to see her house splinter. In truth, I think it’s why she didn’t come down here with me. She can’t bear the sight of her house divided. I wish I could make them kneel for her.
In the morning light, the Sunset Stretch is still impressive with its smooth river-rock flooring and sweeping views of the valley. The Allegiant River winds like a blue ribbon over green silk, lazily curving back and forth into the distant rainstorm.
The coalition has not arrived yet, allowing Tolly and me time to take our seats—thrones. His on Father’s right, mine on Mother’s left. All are made of the finest steel, polished to a mirror sheen. It’s cold to the touch, and I tell myself not to shiver as I sit. Goose bumps rise on my skin anyway, mostly in anticipation. I am a princess, Evangeline of the Rift, of the royal house of Samos. I thought my fate was to be someone else’s queen, subject to someone else’s crown. This is so much better. This is what we should have been planning for all along. I almost regret the years of my life wasted training only to be someone’s wife.
Father enters the hall with a crowd of advisers, his head dipped to listen. He doesn’t speak much by nature. His thoughts are his own, but he listens well, taking all into consideration before making decisions. Not like Maven, the foolish king who only followed his own flawed compass.
Mother follows alone, in her usual green, without ladies or advisers. Most give her a wide berth. Probably because of the two-hundred-pound black panther padding at her heels. It keeps pace with her, breaking from her side only when she reaches her throne. Then it weaves around me, nuzzling its massive head against my ankle. I keep still out of habit. Mother’s control of her creatures is well practiced, but not perfect. I’ve seen her pets take bites out of many servants, whether she willed it or not. The panther shakes its head once before returning to Mother, taking a seat on her left, between us. She rests a single hand blazing with emeralds on its head, strokes its silky black fur. The gigantic cat blinks slowly, its yellow eyes round.