“Explosives don’t frighten me.”
“They would if you cared about the soldiers sworn to your crown,” Tiberias growls, prowling close to my shoulder. His forearm brushes against me, sending a flare of heat down my spine.
A shadow seems to pass over Ibarem as he relays the prince’s words and presence. “Good of you to step forward, brother,” Maven whispers. “I thought you’d never find the spine to speak to me.”
“Name the place and we’ll see exactly who has the stronger spine,” Tiberias fires back, his growl feral and unchecked.
In reply, Ibarem just wags a finger back and forth. “Let’s leave the posturing for your inevitable surrender, Cal. When you have to kneel before Norta, the Lakelands, and Piedmont.” He rattles off each country with a spreading grin. I feel the weight stacking against us, the wall getting higher and higher.
Farley puts a hand on my shoulder, holding me back to my chair. Bidding me to wait.
Finally, Ibarem moves, crossing his arms and shifting his weight. His body language is all Maven. Dedicated to a performance. Now he isn’t wearing the false mantle of the young man called to duty. He dons the mask of the heartless, impenetrable son of Elara Merandus. Someone who cares only for power and nothing else.
It is an act as much as Mareena was to me.
“How many bombs did you say, General?”
He uses her rank to throw her off, but Farley is more difficult to rattle. “I didn’t.”
“Hmm,” Maven murmurs. “Well, Bracken won’t take kindly to any further damage done to his installation. Though we bought enough goodwill returning his children, so he might not mind.”
I don’t know exactly where the explosives might be, only that the Guard planted them some time ago. Buried them below the roads, the runways, and most of the administrative buildings. Where they could do the most damage, not just to enemy soldiers, but to the base itself. They’re tuned to a specific frequency, triggered and ready to blow. A perfect and deadly piece of foresight.
“The decision is yours, Maven,” I answer. “The prisoners for your base.”
Ibarem mimics Maven’s grin. “And this newblood, of course,” he says. “Though I’d like to keep him, if you don’t mind. This is much easier than sending you letters.”
“Not part of the deal.”
Pouting, Ibarem huffs. “You make things so difficult sometimes.”
“It’s my specialty.”
At my side, Tiberias scoffs quietly. I’m sure he agrees.
We wait in blistering silence, hanging on every breath from Ibarem’s body. He turns in his seat, looking back and forth. Pantomiming Maven as he paces.
Farley looms above me, a storm cloud as much as I am.
“Where would you like them released?” he says finally.
Silently, Farley punches the air with a pair of brutal, triumphant jabs. I’m reminded of her young age. Only twenty-two, just a few years older than me.
“East gate,” Farley replies, and I try to keep my triumph in check. “The swamps. Dusk.”
I hear Maven’s confusion. “That’s it?”
Tiberias is just as puzzled. He glances sidelong at Farley. “That’s no rescue,” he murmurs, gesturing for Ibarem not to relay his words. “General, we need to get dropjets in place. A clear path. A cease-fire while we evacuate the prisoners and those who managed to escape.”
She slices a hand through the air. “No need, Calore. You keep forgetting the Scarlet Guard isn’t the kind of army you’re used to.” Proud, she plants her hands on her hips. “There’s already infrastructure in place, and we have boots on the ground in the swamps already. Moving Reds across enemy territory is sort of what we’re best at.”
“Good to hear,” Tiberias grinds out. “But I don’t like being left out of the loop. We work better with everyone on even ground.”
“You call this even ground?” Farley says, gesturing between him and us. His blood, our blood. His rank, our rank. The canyon between a Silver born to be a king and Reds born to nothing at all.
His eyes flicker, dancing from her to down to me. He towers over me in my seat, his height exaggerated by the distance. So much space between us and yet none at all. Though it pains him, Tiberias bites his tongue, and a muscle feathers in his cheek as he wrenches his gaze from mine. I see the struggle in him and I expect him to push. Keep arguing. To my surprise, he settles back, gesturing for us to continue.
In front of me, Ibarem heaves a breath. He touches the scar on his chin, brown skin knobbled white between the curls of his black beard. Then he brushes the flesh below each of his eyes. Where the scars of his brothers lie. “The king lingers, thinking. Miss Barrow, tell him he won’t be able to use us this way again,” he says, now pleading. “Or this wretched young man will keep my brother as his prisoner. As a channel to you and His Majesty.”
“Of course,” I reply, bobbing my head. Eager to save Rash from becoming another newblood pet. “We’ll know if you keep the newblood, Maven. And if you do, the deal is broken.”
The responding voice is bitter, but unsurprised. “But I’ve missed our conversations. You keep me sane, Mare,” he tells me, trying for dark humor. It lands poorly.
“We both know that isn’t true. And you will never communicate with me through him again.”
He scowls. “Then we’ll have to find new ways to talk.”
Above me, Tiberias lifts a finger, signaling for Ibarem’s attention. “If you want to talk, no one will stop you, Maven,” he says, and the newblood relays. “Wars are fought with diplomacy as much as weaponry. Meet us on neutral ground, face-to-face.”
“So eager to negotiate surrender, Cal?” Maven taunts, waving away the offer. “Now, General, the explosives?”
Farley nods. “You’ll be given their locations after we can verify that our people are in the swamps and out of harm’s way.”
“I won’t be held responsible for anything an alligator does.”
At this, she truly laughs. “It’s a pity you have no soul, Maven Calore. You could’ve been someone worth saving.”
Tiberias shifts, unsettled. If someone can fix him, isn’t it worth it to try? He asked me that a few weeks ago, skin to skin. It feels like another life. It isn’t a subject I care for. There is no fixing Maven. No redemption for the boy king, for the false person we both loved. We can’t save him from himself.
And I don’t think I’ll ever have the heart to tell Tiberias that.
As broken as Maven’s ability to love is, Tiberias’s is that much stronger. To a fault, perhaps. It makes him cling too tight.
“First you burn Corvium; now you threaten the Piedmont base?” Maven sneers through the bond. “The Scarlet Guard is so talented at destruction. But then it’s always easier to tear down what is already built.”
“Especially when what you build is rotten to the core,” Farley sneers back.
“East gate. The swamps. Dusk,” I repeat. “Or the base burns beneath you.”
My foot twitches beneath me. How many are on the base now? Soldiers oathed to Maven and Bracken and Iris. Silvers, probably. And Reds too. Their shield wall of innocents following orders.
At first I tell myself not to think about it. War is difficult enough without weighing how many lives hang in the balance. But closing my eyes isn’t the answer either. No matter how hard it is to see, I have to look. Even if I have to make the hard decision, I must do it with my eyes open. No more pushing down the pain or the guilt. I have to feel it if I want to get through it.