Maven shrugs. He exudes an air of quiet satisfaction. “My court is well defended. Infiltration is all but impossible.”
I glance at him, meeting his eyes. Liar. He almost smirks at me, like it’s a private joke between us. I fight the familiar urge to spit at him.
“In Piedmont we would march her through the streets of every city,” the prince with the quartz crown says. “Show our citizens what becomes of people like her.”
Piedmont. The word rings like a bell in my head. So these are the Piedmont princes. I rack my brain, trying to remember what I know of their country. An ally of Norta, forming part of our southern border. Governed by a collection of princes. All that I know from Julian’s lessons. But I know other things too. I remember finding shipments on Tuck, supplies stolen from Piedmont. And Farley herself hinted that the Scarlet Guard was expanding there, intent on spreading their rebellion through Norta’s closest ally.
“Does she speak?” the prince continues, looking between Maven and Evangeline.
“Unfortunately,” she replies with a pointed smirk.
Both princes laugh at that, as does Maven. The rest of the room follows suit, pandering to their lord and master.
“Well then, Prince Daraeus? Prince Alexandret?” Maven sweeps his gaze over each in turn. He proudly plays the part of king, despite the two royals twice his age and size. Somehow he measures up against them. Elara trained him so well. “You wanted to see the prisoner. And you’ve seen her.”
Alexandret, already standing so close, takes my chin in soft hands. I wonder what his ability is. I wonder how afraid of him I should be. “Indeed, Your Majesty. We have a few questions, if you would be so kind as to allow it?”
Though he frames the words as a request, this is little more than a demand.
“Your Majesty, I’ve already told you what she knows.” Samson speaks up from his chair, leaning across the table so he can gesture to me. “Nothing in Mare Barrow’s mind escaped my search.”
I would nod in agreement, but Alexandret’s grip keeps me still. I stare up at him, trying to deduce exactly what he wants from me. His eyes are an abyss, unreadable. I don’t know this man and find nothing in him I can use. My skin crawls at his touch and I wish for my lightning, to put a little distance between us. Over his shoulder, Daraeus shifts so he can see me better. His gold beading catches the winter light, filling his hair with dazzling brightness.
“King Maven, we would like to hear it from her own lips,” Daraeus says, leaning in to Maven. Then he smiles, all ease and charisma. Daraeus is beautiful and uses his looks well. “Prince Bracken’s request, you understand. We only need a few minutes.”
Alexandret, Daraeus, Bracken. I commit the names to memory.
“Ask what you will.” Maven’s hands grip the edge of his seat. Neither one stops smiling, and nothing has ever looked so false. “Right here.”
After a long moment, Daraeus relents. He inclines his head in a deferential bow. “Very well, Your Majesty.”
Then his body blurs, moving so quickly I barely see his movements. He is suddenly right beside me. Swift. Not as fast as my brother, but fast enough to send a shock of adrenaline coursing through me. I still don’t know what Alexandret can do. I can only pray he isn’t a whisper, that I won’t have to face such torture again.
“Is the Scarlet Guard operating in Piedmont?” Alexandret asks as he looms over me, his deep eyes boring into mine. Unlike Daraeus, there is no smile in him.
I wait for the telltale sting of another mind crashing into my own. It never comes. The manacles—they won’t allow an ability to penetrate my cocoon of silence.
My voice cracks. “What?”
“I want to hear what you know of the Scarlet Guard’s operations in Piedmont.”
Every interrogation I’ve been subjected to has been performed by a whisper. It’s odd to have someone ask me questions freely, and trust my answers without splitting open my skull. I suppose Samson has already told the princes everything he learned from me, but they don’t trust what he said. Smart, then, to see if my story matches up with his.
“The Scarlet Guard is good at keeping secrets,” I reply, my thoughts a blur. Do I lie? Do I throw more fuel to the fire of distrust between Maven and Piedmont? “I wasn’t allowed much information regarding their operations.”
“Your operations.” Alexandret furrows his brow, forming a deep crease in the center of his forehead. “You were their leader. I refuse to believe you can be so useless to us.”