“To those of you who disagree”—he glares at me, and I tremble—“who believe yourself better, who believe yourself gods, you are wrong. And not because people like the lightning girl exist. Not because we suddenly find ourselves in need of allies to defeat my brother. Because you are simply wrong.
“I was born a prince. I knew more privilege than almost anyone here. I was raised with servants at my beck and call, and I was taught that their blood, because of a color, meant less than mine. ‘Reds are stupid; Reds are rats; Reds are incapable of controlling their own lives; Reds are meant to serve.’ These are words we’ve all heard. And they are lies. Convenient ones that make our lives easier, our shame nonexistent, and their lives unbearable.”
He stops next to his grandmother, tall at her side. “It can’t be tolerated anymore. It simply can’t be. Difference is not division.”
Poor, naive Calore. His grandmother nods in approval, but I remember her in my own house, and what she said. She wants her grandson on the throne, and she wants the old world.
“Premier,” Tiberias says, gesturing to the Montfort leader.
With a clearing of his throat, the man stands. Taller than most, but weedy. He has the look of a pale fish with an equally empty expression. “King Volo, we thank you for your aid in the defense of Corvium. And here, now, before the eyes of our leadership and your own, I would like to know your sentiments on what Prince Tiberias has just said.”
“If you have a question, Premier, ask it,” Father rumbles.
The man keeps his face still, unreadable. I get the sense he hides as many secrets and ambitions as the rest of us. Would that I could put the screws to him. “Red and Silver, Your Majesty. Which color rises in this rebellion?”
A muscle quivers in one pale cheek as my father exhales. He runs a hand through his pointed beard. “Both, Premier. This is a war for us both. On this you have my word, sworn on the heads of my children.”
Thank you so much, Father. The Red commander would collect that price with a smile if given the opportunity.
“Prince Tiberias speaks truthfully,” Father continues, lying though his teeth. “Our world has changed. We must change with it. Common enemies make strange allies, but we are allies all the same.”
As with Salin, I sense a noose tightening. It loops around my neck, threatening to hang me above the abyss. Is this what the rest of my life will feel like? I want to be strong. This is what I trained and suffered for. This is what I thought I wanted. But freedom was too sweet. One gasp of it and I can’t let go. I’m sorry, Elane. I’m so sorry.
“Do you have other questions about the terms, Premier Davidson?” Father pushes on. “Or shall we continue planning the overthrow of a tyrant?”
“And what terms would those be?” Mare’s voice sounds different, and no wonder. I knew her last as a prisoner, smothered almost beyond recognition. Her sparks have returned with a vengeance. She glances between Father and her premier, looking to them for answers.
Father is almost gleeful as he explains, and I hold my breath. Save me, Mare Barrow. Loose the storm I know you have. Bewitch the prince as you always do.
“The Kingdom of the Rift will stand in sovereignty after Maven is removed. The kings of steel will reign for generations. With allowances made for my Red citizens, of course. I have no intention of creating a slave state like the one Norta is.”
Mare looks far from convinced, but holds her tongue.
“Of course, Norta will need a king of her own.”
Her eyes widen. Horror bleeds through her, and she whips her head to Cal, looking for answers. He seems just as taken aback as she fumes. The lightning girl is easier to read than the pages of a children’s book.
Anabel rises from her seat to stand proudly. Her lined face beams as she turns to Cal, putting a hand to his cheek. He’s too shocked to react to her touch. “My grandson is the rightful king of Norta, and the throne belongs to him.”
“Premier . . . ,” Mare whispers, now looking at the Montfort leader. She is almost begging. A flicker of sadness pierces his mask.
“Montfort pledges to back the installment of Ca—” He stops himself. The man looks anywhere but at Mare Barrow. “King Tiberias.”
A current of heat ripples on the air. The prince is angry, violently so. And the worst is yet to come, for all of us. If I’m lucky, he’ll burn the tower down.
“We will cement the alliance between the Rift and the rightful king in the usual way,” Mother says, twisting the knife. She enjoys this. It takes everything to keep my tears inside, where no one else can see.