“Oh yes, these bracelets are just lovely,” I bite back at him, waving one heavy hand in his direction. The manacles are loose enough to spin, but tight enough that I could never pull them off, even if I dislocated a thumb. I considered it, until I realized it would be pointless.
“I’ll give Evangeline your compliments.”
“Of course she made them,” I scoff. She must be so pleased to know she is the literal creator of my cage. “Surprised she has the time, though. She must be spending every second making crowns and tiaras to wear. Dresses too. I bet you cut yourself every time you have to hold her hand.”
A muscle in his cheek ticks. Maven has no feelings for Evangeline, something I’ve always known. Something I can easily exploit.
“Have you set a date?” I ask, sitting up.
Blue eyes flash to mine. “What?”
“I doubt a royal wedding is something you can do on short notice. I assume you know exactly when you’re marrying Samos.”
“Oh, that.” He shrugs, brushing it off with a wave. “Planning the wedding is her business.”
I hold his gaze. “If it were her business, she’d have been queen months ago.” When he doesn’t reply, I push harder. “You don’t want to marry her.”
Instead of crumbling, his facade strengthens. He even chuckles, projecting an image of abject disinterest. “That’s not why Silvers get married, as well you know.”
I try a different tactic, playing on the pieces of him I used to know. The pieces I hope are still real. “Well, I don’t blame you for stalling—”
“It isn’t stalling to postpone a wedding in wartime.”
“She’s not who you would’ve chosen—”
“As if there’s choice in the matter.”
“Not to mention the fact that she was Cal’s before she was yours.”
The mention of his brother stills his lazy protesting. I can almost see the muscles tighten beneath his skin, and one hand flicks the bracelet at his wrist. Every gentle ting of the metal rings as loud as a warning bell. One spark from it and he will burn.
But fire doesn’t scare me anymore.
“Based on your progress, it should take another day or so for you to learn how to walk properly with those.” His words are measured, forced, calculated. He probably rehearsed them before he came in here. “And then you’ll finally be of some use to me.”
As I do every day, I glance around the room, looking for cameras. I still don’t see them, but they must be there. “Do you spend all day spying on me, or does a Security officer give you a summary? Some kind of written report?”
Maven lets the remark glance off. “Tomorrow you will stand up and say exactly what I tell you to.”
“Or what?” I force myself to my feet without any of the grace or agility I used to claim. He watches every inch. I let him. “I’m already your prisoner. You can kill me whenever you like. And quite frankly, I’d prefer that to luring newbloods into your net to die.”
“I’m not going to kill you, Mare.” Even though he’s still sitting, I feel like he towers over me. “And I don’t want to kill them either.”
I understand what the words mean, but not when they come from Maven’s mouth. It makes no sense. No sense at all. “Why?”
“You’ll never fight for us, I know that. But your kind . . . they’re strong, stronger than many Silvers could ever be. Imagine what we will do with an army of them, combined with an army of mine. When they hear your voice, they’ll come. How they are treated once they arrive depends on your behavior, of course. And your compliance.” Finally, he stands. He’s grown in the past few months. Taller and leaner, taking after his mother, as he does in most things. “So I have two choices, and you get to pick which one I follow. Either you bring me newbloods, and they join with us, or I continue finding them on my own, and killing them.”
My slap lands weakly, barely moving his jaw at all. My other hand smacks against his chest, just as inconsequential. He almost rolls his eyes at the effort. He might even enjoy it.
I feel my face turn bright red, flushing both in anger and helpless sorrow. “How can you be like this?” I curse, wishing I could tear him apart. If not for the manacles, my lightning would be everywhere. Instead, words pour out of me. Words I can barely think about before they rage from me. “How can you still be like this? She’s dead. I killed her. You are free from her. You—you shouldn’t be her son anymore.”