I drift on a dark sea, and shadows drift with me.
They could be memories. They could be dreams. Familiar but strange, and something wrong with each. Cal’s eyes are shot with silver, bleeding hot, smoking blood. My brother’s face looks more skeleton than flesh. Dad gets out of his wheelchair, but his new legs are spindle thin, knobbled, ready to splinter with every shaking step. Gisa has metal pins in both hands, and her mouth is sewn shut. Kilorn drowns in the river, tangled in his perfect nets. Red rags spill from Farley’s slit throat. Cameron claws at her own neck, struggling to speak, trapped in a silence of her own making. Metal scales shudder over Evangeline’s skin, swallowing her whole. And Maven slumps on his odd throne, letting it tighten and consume him until he is stone himself, a seated statue with sapphire eyes and diamond tears.
Purple eats at the edge of my vision. I try to turn in to its embrace, knowing what it holds. My lightning is so close. If only I could find the memory of it and taste one last drop of power before plunging back into darkness. But it fades like the rest, ebbing away. I expect to feel cold as the darkness presses in. Instead, heat rises.
Maven is suddenly too close to bear. Blue eyes, black hair, pale as a dead man. His hand hovers inches from my cheek. It trembles, wanting to touch, wanting to pull away. I don’t know which I would prefer.
I think I sleep. Darkness and light trade places, stretching back and forth. I try to move, but my limbs are too heavy. The work of manacles or guards or both. They weigh me down worse than before, and the terrible visions are the only escape. I chase what matters most—Shade, Gisa, the rest of my family, Cal, Kilorn, lightning. But they always dance out of my grip or flicker to nothing when I reach them. Another torture, I suppose—Samson’s way of running me ragged even as I sleep. Maven is there too, but I never go to him, and he never moves. Always sitting, always staring, one hand on his temple, massaging an ache. I never see him blink.
Years or seconds pass. The pressure dulls. My mind sharpens. Whatever fog held me captive recedes, burning off. I am allowed to wake up.
I feel thirsty, bled dry by bitter tears I do not remember shedding. The crushing weight of silence hangs heavy as always. For a moment it’s too difficult to breathe, and I wonder if this is how I die. Drowned in this bed of silk, burned by a king’s obsession, smothered by open air.
I’m back in my prison bedchamber. Maybe I’ve been here the entire time. The white light streaming from the windows tells me it has snowed again, and the world outside is bright winter. When my sight adjusts to it, letting the room come into clearer focus, I risk looking around. Flashing my eyes left and right, not moving more than I have to. Not that it matters.
The Arvens stand guard at the four corners of my bed, each one staring down. Kitten, Clover, Trio, and Egg. They exchange glances with one another as I blink up at them.
Samson is nowhere I can see, though I expect him to loom over me with a malicious smile and a snappy welcome. Instead, a small woman in plain clothes, with flawless blue-black skin like a polished gem, stands at the foot of my bed. I don’t know her face, but there’s something familiar about her features. Then I realize what I thought were manacles were actually hands. Hers. Each one tight around an ankle, soothing against my skin and the bones beneath.
I recognize her colors. Red and silver crossed on her shoulders, representing both kinds of blood. Healer. Skin healer. She’s of House Skonos. The sensation I feel from her touch is healing me—or at least keeping me alive against the onslaught of four pillars of silence. Their pressure must be enough to kill me, if not for a healer. A delicate balance to be sure. She must be very talented. She has the same eyes as Sara. Bright, dark gray, expressive.
But she isn’t looking at me. Her eyes, instead, are on something to my right.
I flinch when I follow her gaze.
Maven sits as I dreamed him. Still, focused, one hand on his temple. The other hand waves in silent order.
And then there really are manacles. The guards move quickly, fastening strange braided metal studded with smoothly polished orbs around my ankles and wrists. They lock each one with a single key. I try to follow the key’s path, but in my daze, it flickers in and out of focus. Only the manacles stand out. They feel heavy and cold. I expect one more, a new collar to mark my neck, but my neck is left blissfully bare. The jeweled thorns don’t come back.
To my eternal surprise, the healer and the guards take their leave of me, walking from the room. I watch them go in confusion, trying to hide the sudden leap of excitement sending my pulse into overdrive. Is everyone really this stupid? Will they leave me alone with Maven? Does he think I won’t try to kill him in a heartbeat?
I turn to him, trying to get out of bed, trying to move. But anything faster than sitting up feels impossible, as if my very blood has turned to lead. I quickly understand why.
“I’m quite aware of what you’d like to do to me,” he says, his voice barely a whisper.
My fists clench, fingers twitching. I reach for what still won’t respond. What can’t respond. “More Silent Stone,” I mumble, saying the words like a curse. The polished orbs of my wearable prison gleam. “You must be running low by now.”
“Thank you for your concern, but the supply is well in order.”
As I did in the cells beneath the Bowl of Bones, I spit in his direction. It lands harmlessly at his feet. He doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he smiles.
“Get it out of your system now. The court will not take kindly to such behavior.”
“As if I— Court?” The last word sputters out.
His smile spreads. “I did not misspeak.”
My insides cringe at the sight of his grin. “Lovely,” I say. “You’re tired of keeping me caged up where you can’t see me.”
“Actually, I find it difficult being this close to you.” His eyes flicker over me with an emotion I don’t want to place.
“The feeling is mutual,” I snarl, if only to kill the strange softness in him. I would rather face his fire, his rage, than any quiet word.
He doesn’t rise to the bait. “I doubt that.”
“Where’s my leash, then? Do I get a new one?”
“No leash, no collar.” He angles his chin at my manacles. “Nothing but those now.”
What he’s getting at, I cannot begin to fathom. But I’ve long stopped trying to understand Maven Calore and the twists of his labyrinthine brain. So I let him keep talking. He always tells me what I need, in the end.
“Your interrogation was very fruitful. So much to learn about you, about the terrorists calling themselves the Scarlet Guard.” My breath catches in my throat. What did they find? What did I miss? I try to remember the most important pieces of my knowledge, to figure out which will be the most harmful to my friends. Tuck, the Montfort twins, the newblood abilities?
“Cruel people, aren’t they?” he continues. “Bent on destroying everything and everyone who is not like them.”
“What are you talking about?” The Colonel locked me up, yes, and fears me still, but we are allies now. What could that mean to Maven?
“Newbloods, of course.”
I still don’t understand. There’s no reason for him to care about Reds with abilities beyond what he must do to get rid of us. First he denied we existed, calling me a trick. Now we are freaks, threats. Things to be feared and eradicated.
“It’s such a shame, to know you were treated so badly you felt the need to run from that old man calling himself a colonel.” Maven enjoys this, explaining his plan in slivers, waiting for me to piece it together. My head is still foggy, my body weak, and I try my best to figure out what he means. “Worse still, that he debated shipping you off to the mountains, discarding you all like garbage.” Montfort. But that wasn’t what happened. That wasn’t what was offered to us. “And of course I was very upset to learn the true intentions of the Scarlet Guard. To make a Red world, a Red dawn, with room for nothing else. No one else.”
“Maven.” The word quivers with all the rage I have strength to call. If not for my manacles, I would explode. “You can’t—”
“Can’t what? Tell the truth? Tell my country the Scarlet Guard is luring newbloods to its side only to kill them? To make a genocide of them—of you—as well as us? That the infamous rebel Mare Barrow came back to me willingly, and that this was discovered during an interrogation where the truth is impossible to hide?” He leans forward, well within striking distance. But he knows I can barely lift a finger. “That you are on our side now, because you have seen what the Scarlet Guard truly is? Because you and your newbloods are feared as we are, blessed as we are, Silver as we are, in everything but the color of blood?”
My jaw works, opening and closing my mouth. But I can’t find the words to match my horror. All this done without Queen Elara’s whispers. All this with her dead and cold.
“You’re a monster” is all I can say. A monster, all on his own.
He draws back, still smiling. “Never tell me what I cannot do. And never underestimate what I will do—for my kingdom.”
His hand falls on my wrist, drawing one finger down the manacle of Silent Stone keeping me prisoner. I tremble out of fear, but so does he.
With his eyes on my hand, I’m given time to study him. His casual clothes, black as always, are rumpled, and he does not stand on ceremony. No crown, no badges. An evil boy, but a boy still.
One I must figure out how to fight. But how? I’m weak, my lightning is gone, and anything I might say will be twisted beyond my control. I can barely walk, let alone escape unaided. Rescue is all but impossible, a hopeless dream that I can’t waste any more time on. I’m stuck here, trapped by a lethal, conniving king. He dogged me over months, haunting me from afar in everything from broadcasts to his deadly notes.
I miss you. Until we meet again.
He said he was a man of his word. Perhaps, in this alone, he is.
With a deep breath, I poke at the only weakness I suspect he might still have.
“Were you here?”
Blue eyes snap to mine. It’s his turn to look confused.
“Through this.” I glance at the bed, and then far away. It’s painful to remember Samson’s torture, and I hope it shows. “I dreamed you were here.”
The warmth of him recedes, drawing back to leave the room cold with oncoming winter. His eyelids flutter, dark lashes against white skin. For a second, I remember the Maven I thought he was. I see him again, a dream or a ghost.
“Every second,” he answers.
When a gray flush spreads across his cheeks, I know it’s the truth.
And now I know how to hurt him.
The manacles make it too easy to fall asleep, so merely pretending to do so is difficult. Beneath the blanket, I clench a fist, digging my nails into my palm. I count the seconds. I count Maven’s breaths. Finally, his chair creaks. He stands. He hesitates. I can almost feel his eyes, their touch burning against my still face. And then he goes, footsteps light against the wood floor, sweeping through my bedroom with the grace and quiet of a cat. The door shuts softly behind him.
So easy to sleep.
I wait instead.
Two minutes pass, but the Arven guards don’t return.
I suppose they think the manacles are enough to keep me here.
They are wrong.
My legs wobble when they hit the floor, bare feet against cold wood in parquet designs. If there are cameras watching, I don’t care. They can’t stop me from walking. Or trying to walk.
I don’t like doing things slowly. Especially now, when every moment counts. Every second could mean another person I love dead. So I shove off the bed, forcing myself to stand on weak, trembling legs. An odd sensation, with Silent Stone weighing down my wrists and ankles, leaching what little strength my anger gives me. It takes a long moment to bear the pressure. I doubt I’ll ever get used to it. But I can get past it.
The first step is the easiest. A lunge to the little table where I take my meals. The second is more difficult, now that I know how much effort it takes. I walk like a man drunk or hobbled. For a split second, I envy my father’s wheelchair. The shame of such thoughts fuels my next steps, across the length of the room. Panting, I reach the other side, almost collapsing against the wall. The burn in my legs is pure fire, sending a prickle of sweat down my spine. A familiar feeling, like I’ve just run a mile. The nausea in the pit of my stomach is different, though. Another side effect of the Stone. It makes every beat of my heart feel heavier, and wrong somehow. It tries to empty me out.
My forehead touches the paneled wall, letting the cold soothe. “Again,” I force out.
I turn and stumble across the room.
Again.
Again.
Again.
By the time Kitten and Trio deliver my lunch, I’m drenched with sweat and I have to eat lying on the floor. Kitten doesn’t seem to care, toeing the plate of evenly balanced meat and vegetables toward me. Whatever’s going on outside the city walls, it doesn’t seem to have any effect on food supply. A bad sign. Trio leaves something else on my bed, but I focus on eating first. I force down every single bite.
Getting up is a bit easier. My muscles are already responding, adjusting to the manacles. There’s a small blessing in them. The Arvens are living Silvers, their ability fluctuating with their own concentration, as changing as crashing waves. Their silence is much harder to adapt to than the constant press of the Stone.
I rip open the parcel on my bed, discarding the thick, luxurious wrapping. The gown slithers out, falling against my blankets. I take a step back slowly, my body going cold as I’m seized by the familiar urge to jump out the window. For a second I shut my eyes, trying to will the dress away.
Not because it’s ugly. The dress is shockingly beautiful, a gleam of silk and jewels. But it forces me to realize a terrible truth. Before the dress, I was able to ignore Maven’s words, his plan, and what he means to do. Now it stares me in the face, a mocking piece of artistry. The fabric is red. As the dawn, my mind whispers. But that is wrong too. This is not the color of the Scarlet Guard. Ours is a lurid, bright, angry red, something to be seen and recognized, almost shocking to the eye. This gown is different. Worked in darker shades, crimson and scarlet, beaded with chips of gemstones, woven with intricate embroidery. It shimmers in the darkest way, catching the light overhead like a pool of red oil.
Like a pool of red blood.
The dress will make me—and what I am—impossible to forget.
I laugh bitterly to myself. It’s almost funny. My days as Maven’s betrothed were spent hiding, pretending to be Silver. At least now I won’t have to be painted into one of them. A very, very small mercy in the light of all else.
So, I am going before his court, and the world, the color of my blood bare for all to see. I wonder if the kingdom will realize I am nothing more than a lure hiding a steel-sharp hook.
He doesn’t come back until the next morning. When he enters, he frowns at the dress, balled up in the corner. I couldn’t stand to look at it. I can’t really look at him either, so I keep at my exercises: currently a very stunted, slow version of sit-ups. I feel like a clumsy toddler, my arms heavier than usual, but I force through it. He takes a few steps closer, and I clench a fist, willing myself to send a spark in his direction. Nothing happens, just as nothing happened the last dozen times I tried to use my electricity.
“Good to know they got the balance right,” he muses, settling into his seat at the table. Today he looks polished, with his badges bright and shining on his chest. He must’ve come from outside. There’s snow in his hair, and he removes his leather gloves with his teeth.
“Oh yes, these bracelets are just lovely,” I bite back at him, waving one heavy hand in his direction. The manacles are loose enough to spin, but tight enough that I could never pull them off, even if I dislocated a thumb. I considered it, until I realized it would be pointless.
“I’ll give Evangeline your compliments.”
“Of course she made them,” I scoff. She must be so pleased to know she is the literal creator of my cage. “Surprised she has the time, though. She must be spending every second making crowns and tiaras to wear. Dresses too. I bet you cut yourself every time you have to hold her hand.”
A muscle in his cheek ticks. Maven has no feelings for Evangeline, something I’ve always known. Something I can easily exploit.
“Have you set a date?” I ask, sitting up.
Blue eyes flash to mine. “What?”
“I doubt a royal wedding is something you can do on short notice. I assume you know exactly when you’re marrying Samos.”
“Oh, that.” He shrugs, brushing it off with a wave. “Planning the wedding is her business.”
I hold his gaze. “If it were her business, she’d have been queen months ago.” When he doesn’t reply, I push harder. “You don’t want to marry her.”
Instead of crumbling, his facade strengthens. He even chuckles, projecting an image of abject disinterest. “That’s not why Silvers get married, as well you know.”
I try a different tactic, playing on the pieces of him I used to know. The pieces I hope are still real. “Well, I don’t blame you for stalling—”
“It isn’t stalling to postpone a wedding in wartime.”
“She’s not who you would’ve chosen—”
“As if there’s choice in the matter.”
“Not to mention the fact that she was Cal’s before she was yours.”
The mention of his brother stills his lazy protesting. I can almost see the muscles tighten beneath his skin, and one hand flicks the bracelet at his wrist. Every gentle ting of the metal rings as loud as a warning bell. One spark from it and he will burn.
But fire doesn’t scare me anymore.
“Based on your progress, it should take another day or so for you to learn how to walk properly with those.” His words are measured, forced, calculated. He probably rehearsed them before he came in here. “And then you’ll finally be of some use to me.”
As I do every day, I glance around the room, looking for cameras. I still don’t see them, but they must be there. “Do you spend all day spying on me, or does a Security officer give you a summary? Some kind of written report?”
Maven lets the remark glance off. “Tomorrow you will stand up and say exactly what I tell you to.”
“Or what?” I force myself to my feet without any of the grace or agility I used to claim. He watches every inch. I let him. “I’m already your prisoner. You can kill me whenever you like. And quite frankly, I’d prefer that to luring newbloods into your net to die.”
“I’m not going to kill you, Mare.” Even though he’s still sitting, I feel like he towers over me. “And I don’t want to kill them either.”
I understand what the words mean, but not when they come from Maven’s mouth. It makes no sense. No sense at all. “Why?”
“You’ll never fight for us, I know that. But your kind . . . they’re strong, stronger than many Silvers could ever be. Imagine what we will do with an army of them, combined with an army of mine. When they hear your voice, they’ll come. How they are treated once they arrive depends on your behavior, of course. And your compliance.” Finally, he stands. He’s grown in the past few months. Taller and leaner, taking after his mother, as he does in most things. “So I have two choices, and you get to pick which one I follow. Either you bring me newbloods, and they join with us, or I continue finding them on my own, and killing them.”
My slap lands weakly, barely moving his jaw at all. My other hand smacks against his chest, just as inconsequential. He almost rolls his eyes at the effort. He might even enjoy it.
I feel my face turn bright red, flushing both in anger and helpless sorrow. “How can you be like this?” I curse, wishing I could tear him apart. If not for the manacles, my lightning would be everywhere. Instead, words pour out of me. Words I can barely think about before they rage from me. “How can you still be like this? She’s dead. I killed her. You are free from her. You—you shouldn’t be her son anymore.”
His hand grips my chin hard, shocking me into silence. The force of it makes me bend, lean backward, almost lose balance. I wish I would. I wish I could fall out of his hands, hit the floor, and splinter into a thousand pieces.
Back at the Notch, in the warmth of the cot I shared with Cal, deep in the night, I thought of moments like this. Being alone with Maven again. Getting the chance to see what he truly was beneath the mask I remembered and the person his mother forced him to be. In that strange place between sleep and waking, his eyes followed me. Always the same color, but somehow changing. His eyes, her eyes, eyes I knew and eyes I could never know. They look the same now, burning with a cold fire, threatening to consume me.
Knowing it’s what he wants to see, I let the tears of frustration overwhelm me and fall. He tracks their paths with hunger.
Then he shoves me away. I stagger to a knee.
“I am what she made me,” he whispers, leaving me behind.
Before the door shuts behind him, I notice guards on either side. Clover and Egg this time. So the Arvens are not far away, even if I somehow manage to free myself.
I sink slowly to the floor and sit back on my heels. I put one hand over my face, hiding the fact that my eyes are suddenly dry. As much as I wished Elara’s death would change him, I knew it would not. I’m not that stupid. I cannot trust anything where Maven is concerned.
The smallest of his ceremonial badges bites in my other hand, hidden by my curling fingers. Even Silent Stone cannot take away a thief’s instincts. The badge’s metal pin digs into skin. I’m tempted to let it break through, to bleed crimson and scarlet, to remind myself and anyone watching what I am, and what I am capable of.
Under the guise of straightening up, I slip the badge under my mattress. Along with the rest of my plunder: hairpins, broken fork tines, shards of shattered glass and porcelain plates. My arsenal, humble as it is, will have to do.
I glare at the dress in the corner, as if the dress is somehow at fault for this.
Tomorrow, he said.
I return to my sit-ups.
