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When the first Newblood comes in, I smile as I never had before.
Not for Mare. Not for the nobles, nor Mother. No. I smile for the people who are easy to fool, easy to convince I actually care. It’s a mask I’ve donned since birth. There’s no reason for it to come off now.
He comes to Ocean Hill, the Harbor Bay palace, the one Coriane loved and Mother quickly scorned. I have no love for it, but no hate either, content to simply use it for my own ends.
Morritan keeps his eyes trained on Mare, quivering as he steps forward. A burner, but more. A burner without the need for a spark. He kneels soon enough, the oath spilling from his lips as her grip tightens on her chair. I flash her a crooked grin.
For a moment, I think she might actually kill me
I wave a lazy hand. “Welcome, Morritan.” I spread my arms wide, gesturing to the Newbloods beside me. Jon leans back in his chair, nails scraping against the table. “You’re in good company.”
And soon he will have more.
The next newbloods start the same way: quivering, hesitant, one foot poised to break for the door. But Mare’s presence keeps them calm, and so does my smile, the first fueling the other more than I care to admit.
She knows better than to protest.
As does court, polishing knives beneath their perfect poise. Evangeline drums her nails along her seat, soothed only by Elane as I am by Mare. Though I suppose it’s hardly the same.
I bet you cut yourself every time you have to hold her hand.
It takes everything in me not to snarl. She has love. But I have a crown. And I know which one matters more, in the end.
The council meetings go faster with Mare at my side, with warmth bleeding through my skin as she glares at me. My fingers tap the desk and I hum, tallying losses and gains, land and dead soldiers, Reds thrown to the shredder as we sit on gilded chairs. It drives her mad, I know. But it’s not like Cal would’ve been any different.
Samson leers just out of reach, his eyes flickering with every slight nod in his direction. He wants what Mother had, what Volo thinks to make of Evangeline. It’s no surprise. Mother kept me away from them for a reason.
And without her, I resort to other methods.
My fingers curl around the silent stone, a cold ache settling deep within my bones. Not painful, but not pleasant either. I’ll bear it. Anything to make my mind my own. Anything to keep their whispers at bay.
It lingers as the governor finishes his proposal, a lord of House Laris who wants funds for Samos mines. I treat him to the same empty promise as always. Soon. Later. In time.
The lords leave, but Mare can’t, avoiding my eyes as my thumb grazes the last proposal. I should dismiss her. Should get her out of my sight as quickly as possible. But my lips have a mind of their own, parting before I register it. “You look good in red.”
Her fists tighten, and I shift my gaze to the window, at the leaves so thick with snow they might break. “You look alive. Like we’re somewhere else.” I rise, and air hisses between her teeth. “Like you could stay, if things were different.”
Her breath hitches. “Maven–”
“You’re dismissed.” I wave a hand. “I have no more use for you.”
She marches past me, scowling, but I know enough to glimpse the hurt beneath, one that cuts through me against all reason. No matter. I have my throne, my jewels, Mother’s voice guiding me through every step. What is a girl, in the face of that? What is a girl, in the face of ultimate power?
My mind grows uncomfortably tight, a voice echoing through it. Nothing. Nothing at all.
Mother is right. Mother is right. Mother is–
I grab the nearest glass, about to smash it before I catch myself. I’m not going to break things over her.
No matter how deeply I want to.
The next Newblood comes in the evening, to a bored court and my unwavering smile. Jon lazes beside me as always, red rimmed eyes taking in every detail. He’ll tell me the threads later, the futures at my fingertips, but for now, he waits.
And I reap the rewards.
Mare twitches in the corner of my eye, nails bitten and bloody, staring at Jon as if he could give her answers. Don’t bother, I almost whisper. He answers to me, and only me.
“Welcome all.” My hand sweeps through the throne room, eyes bright and steady. “Not to worry. You’re safe now. I promise you all, the Scarlet Guard will never threaten you here.”
One by one, they step forward, a line of four forming in front of me. The first, a woman muscular enough to snap me in two, lays a trembling hand on the wall before plunging through it, disappearing, guards on the other side shouting as she phases back in. She does the same to a sentinel at my behest, a faint quiver before they both bow.
The next two go by soon enough, a Newblood oblivion and a man who can manipulate sound. I’ll have to ask Jon of their worth later. For now, they can think themselves useful. And last . . .
A woman bows in front of us, gray-streaked black hair falling over one shoulder. She must be Mother’s age, though she doesn’t wear it as gracefully, not without a healer to smooth out any wrinkles she doesn’t like. Though I suppose Mother will never age again.
“Your Majesty.” Her voice drifts like a lily on a lake. “I am Halley, a servant of House Eagrie.”
I shake my head, smiling. “You were a servant of House Eagrie.” My eyes find her house head, seated in the back per usual. “My thanks, Lady Mellina, for bringing her to safety.”
She curtsies, a brief head bob before sinking back into her seat. Halley, like all the other Newbloods, fixes on Mare instead of me, but her eyes are void of fear or hope. She raises a finger, steady. “She can control and create electricity, great and small. You have no name for this ability.”
Her gaze turns to Jon. “He sees fate. As far as the path goes, for as long as the person walks it. You have no name for this ability.”
My eyes narrow despite myself, despite all I have warning me not to flinch. I do not tell many of Jon’s true nature, and I don’t appreciate her laying it out so plainly. Still, I remain in my seat as she goes through the rest of my advisors, head cocked as I puzzle out what use to make of her.
I raise a brow. “So your ability is to sense other abilities?”
Halley lowers her gaze. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“An easy thing to play at.”
She bites her lip. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
Were I not on my throne, I know Mother would be hissing to dismiss her, to kill her for wasting my time with such a useless ability. One that could be faked with the memorization of some house colors.
I lean back on my throne, one arm on the smooth stone. “Keep going.”
She does, pointing and naming one noble ability after the other, no matter how obvious the observation. Neither Red nor Silver. Stronger than both. I almost laugh. Even if I took her, she would not last a day in the barracks.
In my periphery, an Iral gets up from his seat, perhaps to object, making his way to the door with hurried, ungraceful steps. Strange. I did not say anyone could leave yet.
Halley’s eyes fix on his frame, her voice growing strained and quiet. “She can change her face.” Her finger stretches towards him, pale and trembling. “You have no name for this ability.”
Beside me, Mare sinks in her chair.
Samson leaps forward as the guards apprehend him, as he tips his head back and wails as his hair turns gray, his skin wrinkled, every part of him shrinking into the feeblest of old women. I almost scoff. This is who they’re sending after me? Still, I know the danger old women can pose, whether they be Nanabel or Ara Iral.
Mare’s breath hitches, my irritation sharpening to a hot, white knife. She knows this woman. She recruited her to her little ragtag band of rebels, the echoes of the list I didn’t manage to kill in time. And now she’s going to beg for her life.
What a shame.
“Nanny.” The word leaves her in a gasp, and I’m suddenly reminded of the last time she begged, the time she called my name in the throne room all those nights ago. When Evangeline dragged her in front of my court and made me sentence her to Samson. She didn’t touch me then. There was too much floor between us.
But she touches me now, hand at my wrist as she falls to her knees, as the dress rips at a seam so carefully stitched together. “Please, Maven. Don’t kill her.” I almost sneer. Who does she think I am? “She can be used; she is valuable. Look what she can do–”
If we were alone, I’d grab her jaw and lean in to whisper in her ear. You thought she was going to free you, didn’t you?
And then she’d cry, like she does now, like she always does eventually. If pain makes you strong, she is made of more steel than Evangeline. My mind grows white, hazy with rage at what this woman is going to make me do. What she is going to make Mare watch.
I push Mare away, hand at her collarbone, faintly registering the brand must be beneath it. “She is a spy in my court. Aren’t you?”
“She has been betrayed, lied to, misled by the Scarlet Guard.” Even when begging, Mare’s voice rings strong. “It’s not her fault!”
My own lies, spun like thread for a loom, but Mare forgets exactly how well I can weave. “The rules of war are clear.” My grip tightens on my throne, grounded by the silent stone ache. “Spies are to be dealt with swiftly.”
“When you are sick, who do you blame?” Oh, she is so lucky I won’t kill her. “The body, or the disease?”
My eyes bore into her, the broken, kneeling frame. She’s not collared anymore, but she might as well be, rage and regret rippling in equal measure. My voice closes the matter like the lid of a tomb. “You blame the cure that didn’t work.”
“Maven, I am begging you . . . “
I don’t look. Not anymore. She will not wield my pain to her advantage. She will not see the pain Mother tells me is strength. Samson raises a hand, ready for his meal.
And then the woman spits at the ground, growling. “Rise.” Her voice is sharp, an angry rasp. “Red as the dawn.”
And then my dead mother stares back at me.
Not as she was. Not as I loved her. No. This is something more grotesque, more gruesome, a corpse with one eye missing and the other shot with blood. She smiles at me, but it’s wrong, so wrong, the kind of smile Mother gives to everyone but me.
The kind that tells you she’s about to tear you apart.
Her hand wrenches from Samson and grasps onto a pill, shoving it between her lips as she bites down on it. Suicide pills are a must for spies, for those who can have their secrets laid bare in an instant. I watch my mother die for the second time, waiting for her to change back into the old woman.
But she doesn’t.
Mother spams on the ground before falling silent, before the rest of court erupts in rage and outcry. I don’t move. Samson stares at the corpse, breathing hard. He turns to Mare, about to speak, but I hold up a hand. “It’s over, Cousin.” The word is black, bitter. “There’s nothing to be done now.”
“But what if she–”
My fingers twitch, itching for a fight. “Miss Barrow is an honored member of my court. She is not subject to your whims or suspicions.”
His eyes flash. He doesn’t believe me, but he’s not Mother. If he’s in Mare’s mind, she will know, and I will not let that happen again.
Even if, deep down, I know that’s a lie.