He stares. “They attempted a coup because Maven is a tyrant who abuses his power and murders his own.”
I slam my fist against the arm of my chair. He’s not going to dance his way around this one. “They revolted because they want to make you king!” I shout. To my surprise, he flinches. Maybe he’s expecting more than just words. But I keep my ability in check, hard as it may be. “‘Long live Tiberias the Seventh.’ That’s what the assassins said to Maven. Our operatives in Whitefire were clear.”
He expels a long, frustrated sigh. He seems aged by this conversation. Brow furrowed, jaw tight. Muscles stand out at his neck and his hands curl into fists. He’s a machine about to break—or explode.
“It’s not unexpected,” he mutters, as if it makes anything better. “There was bound to be a succession crisis eventually. But there’s no feasible way anyone can put me back on the throne.”
Farley tips her head. “And if they could?” Silently, I cheer her on. She won’t let him off as easily as Mare used to. “If they offered the crown, your so-called birthright, in exchange for an end to all this—would you take it?”
The fallen prince of House Calore straightens to look her dead in the eye.
“No.”
He’s not as good a liar as Mare is.
“As much as I hate to admit it, he has a point about waiting.”
I almost cough up the tea Farley poured me. Quickly I set the chipped cup back down on her ramshackle table. “You’re not seriously saying that. How can you trust him?”
Farley paces back and forth, crossing her tiny room in only a few long steps. One hand massages her back as she moves, working out another of her aches. Her hair is longer every day, and she keeps it braided back from her face at odd lengths. I would offer her my seat, but she doesn’t like to sit much these days. She has to keep moving, for her own comfort and her own nervous energy.
“Of course I don’t trust him,” she replies, kicking weakly at one of the paint-peeling walls. Her frustration runs as high as her emotions. “But I can trust things about him. I can trust him to act a certain way where certain people are concerned.”
“You mean Mare.” Obviously.
“Mare and his brother. His affection for one plays nicely off his hatred for the other. It might be our only way to keep him around.”
“I say let him go, let him rile up a few more Silvers and be another thorn in Maven’s side. We don’t need him here.”
She almost laughs, a bitter sound nowadays. “Yes, I’ll just tell Command that we kicked out our most well known and legitimate operative. That will go over very well.”
“He’s not even really with us—”
“Well, Mare’s not really with Maven, but people don’t seem to understand that either, do they?” Even though she’s right, I have to scowl. “As long as we have Cal, people take notice. No matter how badly we botched that first attempt at Archeon, we still ended up with a Silver prince on our side.”
“A bleeding useless prince.”
“Annoying, frustrating, a veritable pain in the ass—but not useless.”
“Oh yeah? What’s he done for us lately besides get Nanny killed?”
“Nanny wasn’t forced to go to Archeon, Cameron. She made a choice and she died. That’s how it works sometimes.”
Nurturing as she sounds, Farley isn’t much older than me. Twenty-two, maybe, at most. I think her maternal instincts are kicking in early.
“Besides the fact that he wins us points with less-hostile Silvers, Montfort has an interest in him.”
Montfort. The mysterious Free Republic. The twins, Rash and Tahir, paint the place as a haven of liberty and equality, where Reds, Silvers, and Ardents—what they call newbloods—live in peace together. An impossible place to believe in. But even so, I have to believe in their money, their supplies, their support. Most of our resources come from them in some way.
“What do they want?” I swirl the tea in my cup, letting the heat wash over my face. It’s not as cold here as in Irabelle, but winter still creeps through the Rocasta safe house. “A poster boy?”
“Something like that. There’s been lots of chatter with Command. I don’t have clearance for most of it. They wanted Mare but—”
“She’s a bit preoccupied.”
Mention of Mare Barrow doesn’t affect Farley as much as the memory of Shade, but a flicker of pain washes over her face anyway. She tries to hide it, of course. Farley does her best to appear impenetrable, and usually she is.