Her smile flashes, sharp and bright as the scales of her armor. “Don’t sell yourself short. You’ve got plenty of fight left in you.” Then she leans forward, stepping into my space as she did with Maven. An easy way to show she is unafraid. I stand firm, willing myself not to wince, even when she plucks a razored scale from her armor like a petal from a flower.
“At least I hope so,” she says under her breath.
With a careful flick of her hand, she cuts the collar of my dress, stripping back a piece of embroidered scarlet. I fight the urge to cover the M brand on my skin, feeling a hot flush of embarrassment creep up my throat.
Her eyes linger, tracing the rough lines of Maven’s mark. Again she seems surprised.
“That doesn’t look like an accident.”
“Any other wonderful observations you’d like to share?” I mutter through gritted teeth.
Grinning, she replaces the scale on her bodice. “Not with you.” It is a reprieve when she pulls back, putting a few precious inches between us. “Elane?”
“Yes, Eve,” a voice says. From nowhere.
I nearly jump out of my skin when Elane Haven materializes behind her, seemingly from thin air. A shadow, able to manipulate light, powerful enough to make herself invisible. I wonder how long she’s been standing with us. Or if she was in the study, either with Evangeline or before she even walked in. She could’ve been watching the entire time. For all I know, Elane could’ve been my ghost since the moment I got here.
“Has anyone ever tried to put a bell on you?” I snap, if only to hide my own discomfort.
Elane offers a pretty, tight-lipped smile that does not reach her eyes. “Once or twice.”
Like Sonya, Elane is familiar to me. We spent many days in Training together, always at odds. She is another of Evangeline’s friends, girls smart enough to ally themselves to a future queen. As a lady of House Haven, her gown and jewelry are deepest black. Not in mourning, but in deference to her house colors. Her hair is as red as I remember, bright copper in contrast to dark, angled eyes and skin that seems blurred, perfected, and flawless. The light around her is carefully manipulated, giving her a heavenly glow.
“We’re finished here,” Evangeline says, turning her laser focus on Elane. “For now.” She throws back one daggered glance to make her point clear.
NINE
Mare
Being a doll is an odd thing. I spend more time on the shelf than at play. But when I’m forced to, I dance at Maven’s command—he upholds his bargain while I do. After all, he’s a man of his word.
The first newblood seeks refuge at Ocean Hill, the Harbor Bay palace, and as Maven promised, he is given full protection from the so-called terror of the Scarlet Guard. A few days later the poor man, Morritan, is escorted to Archeon and introduced to Maven himself. It is well broadcast. Both his identity and his ability are now commonly known in court. To the surprise of many, Morritan is a burner like the scions of House Calore. But unlike Cal and Maven, he has no need for a flamemaker bracelet, or even a spark. His fire comes from ability and ability alone, same as my lightning.
I have to sit and watch, perched on a gilded chair with the rest of Maven’s royal entourage. Jon, the seer, sits with me, red-eyed and quiet. As the first two newbloods to join with the Silver king, we are afforded places of great honor at Maven’s side, second to Evangeline and Samson Merandus. But only Morritan pays us any attention. As he approaches, before the eyes of court and a dozen cameras, his gaze is always on me. He trembles, afraid, but something about my presence keeps him from running away, keeps him walking forward. Obviously he believes what Maven made me say. He believes the Scarlet Guard hunted us all. He even kneels and swears to join Maven’s army, to train with Silver officers. To fight for his king and his country.
Keeping silent and still is the most difficult part. Despite Morritan’s lanky limbs, golden skin, and hands callused by years of servant work, he looks like nothing more than a little rabbit scurrying directly into a trap. One wrong word from me and the trap will spring.
More follow.
Day after day, week after week. Sometimes one, sometimes a dozen. From every corner of the nation they come, fleeing to the supposed safety of their king. Most because they are afraid, but some because they are foolish enough to want a place here. To leave their lives of oppression behind and become the impossible. I can’t blame them. After all, we’ve been told our entire lives that the Silvers are our masters, our betters, our gods. And now they are merciful enough to let us live in their heaven. Who wouldn’t try to join them?