Red Queen
: Chapter 15

The next morning, I open my eyes to see a shaded figure standing by my bedside. This is it. I left, I broke the rules, and they’re going to kill me for it.

But not without a fight.

Before the figure gets a chance, I fly out of bed, ready to defend myself. My muscles tense while the delightful buzzing comes to life inside me. But instead of an assassin, I’m staring at a red uniform. And I recognize the woman wearing it.

Walsh looks the same as she did before, though I certainly don’t. She stands next to a metal cart filled with tea and bread and anything else I might want for breakfast. Ever the dutiful servant, she keeps her mouth clamped shut, but her eyes scream at me. She stares at my hand, at the now too-familiar sparks creeping around my fingers. I shake them away, brushing off the veins of light until they disappear back into my skin.

“I’m so sorry,” I exclaim, jumping away from her. Still, she doesn’t speak. “Walsh—”

But she busies herself with the food. Then, to my great surprise, she mouths five words to me. They are words I’m beginning to know like a prayer—or a curse. Rise, Red as the dawn.

Before I can respond, before my shock can register, Walsh presses a cup of tea into my hand.

“Wait—” I reach out for her, but she dodges my hand, sweeping into a low bow.

“My lady,” she says, sharply ending our conversation.

I let her go, watching her back out of the room until there’s nothing left but the echo of her unspoken words.

Walsh is in the Guard too.

The teacup feels cold in my hand. Strangely cold.

I look down to replace it’s not full of tea but water. And at the bottom of the cup, a piece of paper bleeds ink. The ink swirls as I read the message, the water leeching it away, erasing any trace, until there’s nothing left but cloudy, gray liquid and a blank curl of paper. No evidence of my first act of rebellion.

The message isn’t hard to remember. It’s only one word.

Midnight.

This knowledge that I have a connection to the group so close by should comfort me, but for some reason, I replace myself shivering. Maybe cameras aren’t the only things watching me here.

And it’s not the only note waiting for me. My new schedule sits on the nightstand, written in the queen’s maddeningly perfect handwriting.

Your schedule has changed.

0630—Breakfast / 0700—Training / 1000—Protocol

1130—Luncheon / 1300—Protocol / 1400—Lessons

1800—Dinner.

Lucas will escort you to all. Schedule is not negotiable.

HRH Queen Elara.

“So, they’ve finally bumped you up to Training?” Lucas grins at me, a rare bit of pride shining through as he leads me to my first session. “Either you’ve been very good or very bad.”

“A little bit of both.”

More bad, I think, remembering my episode last night at home. I know the new schedule is Cal’s doing, but I didn’t expect him to work so fast. Truthfully, I’m excited for Training. If it’s anything like what I saw Cal and Maven go through, the ability practice in particular, I’ll be hopelessly far behind, but at least I’ll have someone to talk to. And if I’m really lucky, Evangeline will be deathly ill and stuck in bed for the rest of her miserable life.

Lucas shakes his head, chuckling. “Be prepared. The instructors are famous for being able to break even the strongest soldiers. They won’t take well to your sass.”

“I don’t take well to being broken,” I retort. “What was your Training like?”

“Well, I went straight to the army when I was nine, so my experience was a bit different,” he says, eyes darkening at the memory.

“Nine?” The thought seems impossible to me. Abilities or not, this can’t be true.

But Lucas shrugs like it’s nothing. “The front is the best place for training. Even the princes were trained at the front, for a time.”

“But you’re here now,” I say. My eyes linger on Lucas’s uniform, on the black and silver of Security. “You’re not a soldier anymore.”

For the first time, Lucas’s dry smile disappears completely. “It wears on you,” he admits, more to himself than to me. “Men are not meant to be at war for long.”

“And what about Reds?” I hear myself ask. Bree, Tramy, Shade, Dad, Kilorn’s father. And a thousand others. A million others. “Can they stand war better than Silvers?”

We reach the door to the training hall before Lucas finally answers, looking a little uncomfortable. “That’s the way the world works. Reds serve, Reds work, Reds fight. It’s what they’re good at. It’s what they’re meant to do.” I have to bite my tongue to keep myself from shouting at him. “Not everyone is special.”

Anger boils in me, but I don’t say a word against Lucas. Losing my temper, even with him, won’t be smiled upon. “I can take it from here,” I say stiffly.

He notes my discomfort, frowning a little. When he speaks, his voice is low and fast, as if he doesn’t want to be overheard. “I don’t have the luxury of questions,” he mutters. His black eyes bore into mine, full of meaning. “And neither do you.”

My heart clenches, terrified by his words and their veiled meaning. Lucas knows there’s more to me than what he’s been told. “Lucas—”

“It’s not my place to ask questions.” He furrows his brow, trying to make me understand, trying to put me at ease. “Lady Titanos.” The title sounds firmer than ever, becoming my shield as well as the queen’s weapon.

Lucas will not ask questions. Despite his black eyes, his Silver blood, his Samos family, he will not pull at the thread that could unravel my existence.

“Keep to your schedule, my lady.” He pulls back, more formal than I’ve ever seen him. With a flick of his head, he gestures to the door where a Red attendant waits. “I’ll collect you after Training.”

“Thank you, Lucas,” is all I can manage. He’s given me so much more than he knows.

The attendant hands me a stretchy black suit with purple and silver stripes. He points me to a tiny room, where I change quickly, slipping out of my usual clothes and into the jumpsuit. It reminds me of my old clothes, the ones I used back in the Stilts. Worn by time and movement, but trim and tight enough not to slow me down.

When I enter the training hall, I’m painfully aware of everyone staring at me, not to mention the dozens of cameras. The floor feels soft and springy beneath my feet, cushioning each step. An immense skylight rises above us, showing a blue summer sky full of clouds to taunt me. Winding stairs connect the several levels cut into the walls, each at varying heights with different equipment. There are many windows as well, one of which I know opens to Lady Blonos’s classroom. Where the others go or who might be watching from them, I have no idea.

I should be nervous about walking into a room full of teen warriors, all of them better trained than me. Instead, I’m thinking about the insufferable icicle of bone and metal known as Evangeline Samos. I barely make it halfway across the floor before her mouth opens, dripping venom.

“Graduated from Protocol already? Did you finally master the art of sitting with your legs crossed?” she sneers, jumping up from a weight-lifting machine. Her silver hair is tied back into a complicated braid I’d very much like to cut off, but the deathly sharp metal blades at her waist give me pause. Like me, like everyone else, she wears a jumpsuit emblazoned with the colors of her house. In black and silver, she looks deadly.

Sonya and Elane flank her with matching smirks. Now that they’re not intimidating me, they seem to be sucking up to the future queen herself.

I do my best to ignore them all and replace myself looking for Maven. He sits in a corner, separated from the others. At least we can be alone together. Whispers follow me, as more than a dozen noble teenagers watch me walk toward him. A few bow their heads, trying to be courteous, but most look cautious. The girls are especially on edge; after all, I did take one of their princes away.

“Took you long enough.” Maven chuckles once I sit down next to him. He doesn’t seem to be part of the crowd, nor does he want to be. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to stay away from us.”

“Just one person in particular,” I reply, casting a glance back to Evangeline. She holds court near the target wall, where she shows off for her cronies in a dazzling display. Her metal knives sing through the air, digging into the dead center of their targets.

Maven watches me watch her, his eyes thoughtful. “When we go back to the capital, you won’t have to see her so much,” he murmurs. “She and Cal will have their hands full touring the country, fulfilling their duties. And we’ll have ours.”

The prospect of getting far away from Evangeline is exciting, but also reminds me of the steadily ticking clock moving against me. Soon I’ll be forced to leave the Hall, the river valley, and my family far behind.

“Do you know when you—” I stumble, correcting myself. “I mean, when we go back to the capital?”

“After the Parting Ball. You were told about that?”

“Yes, your mother mentioned it—and Lady Blonos is trying to teach me how to dance. . . .” I trail off, feeling embarrassed. She tried to teach me a few steps yesterday, but I just ended up falling all over myself. Thieving I can do just fine, but dancing is apparently out of my reach. “Key word, trying.”

“Don’t worry, we won’t have to deal with the worst of it.”

The thought of dancing terrifies me, but I swallow the fear. “Who will?”

“Cal,” he says without hesitation. “Big brother has to tolerate too many silly conversations and dance with a lot of annoying girls. I remember last year . . .” He stops to laugh at the memory. “Sonya Iral spent the entire time following him around, cutting into dances, trying to drag him away for some fun. I had to interfere and suffer through two songs with her to give Cal some respite.”

The thought of the two brothers united against a legion of desperate girls makes me laugh, thinking about the lengths they must’ve gone to, to save each other. But as my smirk spreads, Maven’s smile fades.

“At least this time, he’ll have Samos hanging off his arm. The girls wouldn’t dare cross her.”

I snort, remembering her sharp, biting grip on my arm. “Poor Cal.”

“And how was your visit yesterday?” he says, referring to my jaunt home. So Cal didn’t fill him in.

“Difficult.” It’s the only way I know how to describe it. Now my family knows what I am, and Kilorn has thrown himself to the wolves. And of course, Shade is dead. “One of my brothers was executed, just before the release came.”

He shifts next to me, and I expect him to be uncomfortable. After all, it was his own people who did it. Instead, he puts a hand over mine. “I’m so sorry, Mare. I’m sure he didn’t deserve it.”

“No, he didn’t,” I whisper, remembering why my brother died. Now I’m on the same path.

Maven stares at me intently, like he’s trying to read the secret in my eyes. For once I’m glad for Blonos’s lessons, or else I would assume Maven could read minds as well as the queen. But no, he’s a burner and a burner alone. Few Silvers inherit abilities from their mothers, and no one has ever had more than one ability. So my secret, my new allegiance to the Scarlet Guard, is mine.

When he extends a hand to help me up, I take it. All around us, the others warm up, mostly stretching or jogging around the room, but a few are more impressive. Elane slips in and out of my vision as she bends the light around herself until she disappears altogether. A windweaver boy, Oliver of House Laris, creates a miniature whirlwind between his hands, stirring up tiny bits of dust. Sonya lazily trades blows with Andros Eagrie, a short but muscular eighteen-year-old. As a silk, Sonya is brutally skilled and fast and should be able to best him, but Andros matches her blow for blow in a violent dance. The Silvers of House Eagrie are eyes, meaning they can see the immediate future, and Andros is using his abilities to their full extent. Neither one seems to gain the upper hand, playing a game of balance rather than strength.

Just imagine what they can really do. So strong, so powerful. And these are only the kids. And just like that, my hope evaporates, shifting into fear.

“Lines,” a voice says, barely a whisper.

My new instructor enters without a sound, Cal at his side, with a telky from House Provos behind them both. Like a good soldier, Cal walks in step with the instructor, who seems tiny and unassuming next to Cal’s bulk. There are wrinkles in his pale skin, and his hair is as white as his clothing, a testament to his true age and his house. House Arven, the silent house, I remember, thinking back to my lessons. A major house, full of power and strength and all the things the Silvers put their faith in. I even remember him from before I became Mareena Titanos, from when I was a little girl. He would oversee the broadcasted executions in the capital, lording over the Reds and even the Silvers sentenced to die. And now I know why they chose him to do it.

The Haven girl blinks back into existence, suddenly visible again, while the churning wind dies in Oliver’s hands. Evangeline’s knives drop out of the air, and even I feel a calm blanket of nothing fall over me, blotting out my electrical sense.

He is Rane Arven, the instructor, the executioner, the silence. He can reduce a Silver to what they hate most: a Red. He can turn their abilities off. He can make them normal.

While I gawk, Maven pulls me into place behind him, with Cal at the head of our line. Evangeline leads the line next to us, and for once she doesn’t seem concerned with me. Her eyes stay on Cal as he settles in, looking quite at home in his place of authority.

Arven doesn’t waste time introducing me. In fact, he barely seems to notice I’ve joined his session.

“Laps,” he says, his voice rough and low.

Good. Something I can actually do.

We set off in our lines, circling the room at an easy pace in blissful quiet. I push myself faster, enjoying the exercise I missed so much, until I’m speeding right past Evangeline. Then it’s just Cal next to me, setting the pace for the rest of them. He quirks a smile at me, watching me run. This is something I can do, something I even enjoy.

My feet feel strange on the cushioned floor, bouncing with every step, but the blood pounding in my ears, the sweat, the pace are all familiar. If I close my eyes, I can pretend I’m back in the village, with Kilorn or my brothers or just by myself. Just free.

That is until a section of the wall swings out, catching me in the stomach.

It knocks me to the floor, sending me sprawling, but it’s my pride that really hurts. The pack of runners pulls away, and Evangeline smirks over her shoulder, watching me fall behind. Only Maven slows his pace, waiting for me to catch up.

“Welcome to training.” He chuckles, watching me pry myself off the obstacle.

All over the room, other parts of the wall shift, forming barriers for the runners. Everyone else takes it in stride; they’re used to this. Cal and Evangeline lead the pack, moving over and under each obstacle as it appears before them. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the Provos telky directing the pieces of wall, making them move. He even seems to be smirking at me.

I fight back the urge to snap at the telky and push myself back into a jog. Maven runs next to me, never more than a step away, and it’s strangely infuriating. My pace quickens, until I’m sprinting and hurdling to the best of my ability. But Maven isn’t like the Security at home—it’s hard to leave him in the dust.

By the time we finish laps, Cal is the only one who hasn’t broken a sweat. Even Evangeline looks ragged, though she tries her best to hide it. My breath comes in heavy pants, but I’m proud of myself. Despite the rough start, I managed to keep up.

Instructor Arven surveys us for a moment, his eyes lingering on me, before turning to the telky. “Targets please, Theo,” he says, again barely a whisper. Like drawing away a curtain to reveal the sun, I feel my abilities rushing back.

The telky assistant waves a hand, sliding away a section of the floor, revealing the strange gun I saw from the window of Blonos’s classroom. I realize it’s not a gun at all but a cylinder. Only the telky’s power makes it move, not some greater, strange technology. The abilities are all they have.

“Lady Titanos,” Arven murmurs, making me shudder. “I understand you have an interesting ability.”

He’s thinking of the lightning, the purple-white bolts of destruction, but my mind strays to what Julian said yesterday. I don’t just control, I can create. I am special.

Every eye turns to me, but I set my jaw, trying to will myself into being strong. “Interesting but not unheard of, Instructor,” I say. “I’m very eager to learn about it, sir.”

“You may start now,” the instructor says, and the telky behind him tenses.

On cue, one of the ball targets flies into the air, faster than I thought possible.

Control, I tell myself, repeating Julian’s words. Focus.

This time, I can feel the pull as I suck the electricity from the air—and from somewhere inside myself. It manifests in my hands, shining to life in little sparks. But the ball smacks the floor before I can throw it, its sparks bleeding into the floor and disappearing. Evangeline snickers behind me, but when I turn to glare at her, my eyes replace Maven instead. He barely nods, urging me to try again. And next to him, Cal crosses his arms, his face dark with an emotion I can’t place.

Another target rockets up, turning over in the air. The sparks come sooner now, alive and bright as the target reaches its zenith. Like before in Julian’s classroom, I ball my fist and, feeling the power rage through me, I throw.

It arcs in a beautiful display of destructive light, clipping the side of the falling target. It shatters under my power, smoking and sparking as it hits the floor with a crash.

I can’t help but grin, pleased with myself. Behind me, Maven and Cal clap, as do a few of the other kids. Evangeline and her friends certainly do not—they look almost insulted by my victory.

But Instructor Arven doesn’t say anything, not bothering to congratulate me. He simply looks over me, to the rest of the unit. “Next.”

The instructor runs the class ragged, forcing us through round after round of exercises meant to fine-tune our abilities. Of course, I fall behind in all of them, but I can also feel myself improving. By the time the session ends, I’m dripping sweat and sore all over. Julian’s lesson is a blessing, allowing me to sit and recover my strength. But even the session that morning cannot entirely drain me—midnight is coming. The faster time passes, the closer to midnight I get. The closer to taking the next step, to taking control of my fate.

Julian doesn’t notice my unease, probably because he’s elbow-deep in a pile of newly bound books. Each one is about an inch thick and neatly labeled with a year but nothing else. What they could possibly be, I don’t know.

“What are these?” I ask, picking up one. Inside it’s a mess of lists: names, dates, locations—and causes of death. Most just say blood loss, but there’s also disease, suffocation, drowning, and some more specific and gruesome details. My blood runs cold in my veins as I realize exactly what I’m reading. “A death list.”

Julian nods. “Every person who ever died fighting in the Lakelander War.”

Shade, I think, feeling my meal churn in my stomach. Something tells me he won’t get his name in one of these. Deserters don’t get the honor of a line of ink. Angry, I let my mind reach out to the desk lamp illuminating my reading. The electricity in it calls to me, as familiar as my own pulse. With nothing more than my brain, I turn it on and off, blinking in time with my ragged heartbeat.

Julian notes the flashing light, lips pursed. “Something wrong, Mare?” he asks dryly.

Everything is wrong.

“I’m not a fan of the schedule change,” I say instead, letting the lamp be. It’s not a lie, but it’s not the truth either. “We won’t be able to train.”

He only shrugs, his parchment-colored clothes shifting with the motion. They look dirtier somehow, like he’s turning into the pages of his books. “From what I hear, you need more guidance than I can give you.”

My teeth grind together, chewing on the words before I can spit them out. “Did Cal tell you what happened?”

“He did,” Julian replies evenly. “And he’s right. Don’t fault him for it.”

“I can fault him for whatever I want,” I snort, remembering the war books and death guides all over his room. “He’s just like all the others.”

Julian opens his mouth to say something but thinks better of it at the last moment and turns back to his books. “Mare, I wouldn’t exactly call what we do training. Besides, you looked very good in your session today.”

“You saw that? How?”

“I asked to watch.”

“Wha—?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he says, looking straight through me. His voice is suddenly melodic, humming with deep, soothing vibrations. Exhaling, I realize he’s right.

“It doesn’t matter,” I repeat. Even though he isn’t speaking, the echo of Julian’s voice still hangs in the air like a calming breeze. “So, what are we working on today?”

Julian smirks, amused with himself. “Mare.”

His voice is normal again, simple and familiar. It breaks apart the echoes, wiping them away from me in a lifting cloud. “What—what the hell was that?”

“I take it Lady Blonos hasn’t spoken much about House Jacos in Lessons?” he says, still smirking. “I’m surprised you never asked.”

Truly, I’ve never wondered about Julian’s ability. I always thought it would be something weak, because he doesn’t seem as pompous as the others—but it looks like that isn’t true at all. He’s much stronger and more dangerous than I ever realized.

“You can control people. You’re like her.” The thought of Julian, a sympathizer, a good person, being at all like the queen makes me shake.

He takes the accusation in stride, shifting his attention back to his book. “No, I’m not. I have nowhere near her strength. Or her brutality.” He heaves a sigh, explaining. “We’re called singers. Or at least we would be, if there were any more of us. I’m the last of my house, and the last of, well, my kind. I can’t read minds, I can’t control thoughts, I can’t speak in your head. But I can sing—as long as someone hears me, as long as I can look into their eyes—I can make a person do as I wish.”

Horror bleeds through me. Even Julian.

Slowly, I lean back, wanting to put some distance between him and myself. He notices, of course, but doesn’t look angry.

“You’re right not to trust me,” he murmurs. “No one does. There’s a reason my only friends are written words. But I don’t do it unless I absolutely need to, and I’ve never done it with malice.” Then he snorts, laughing darkly. “If I really wanted, I could talk my way to the throne.”

“But you haven’t.”

“No. And neither did my sister, no matter what anyone else might say.”

Cal’s mother. “No one seems to say anything about her. Not to me, anyways.”

“People don’t like to talk about dead queens,” he snaps, turning away from me in a smooth motion. “But they talked when she was alive. Coriane Jacos, the Singer Queen.” I’ve never seen Julian this way, not once. Usually he’s quiet, calm, a little obsessed maybe, but never angry. Never so hurt. “She wasn’t chosen by Queenstrial, you know. Not like Elara, or Evangeline, or even you. No, Tibe married my sister because he loved her—and she loved him.”

Tibe. Calling Tiberias Calore the Sixth, King of Norta, Flame of the North, anything with less than eight syllables seems preposterous. But he was young once too. He was like Cal, a boy born to become a king.

“They hated her because we were from a low house, because we didn’t have strength or power or any other silly thing those people uphold,” Julian rails on, still looking away. His shoulders heave with each breath. “And when my sister became queen, she threatened to change all that. She was kind, compassionate, a mother who could raise Cal to be the king this country needed to unite us all. A king who wouldn’t be afraid of change. But that never came to be.”

“I know what it’s like to lose a sibling,” I murmur, remembering Shade. It doesn’t seem real, like maybe everyone is just lying and he’s at home now, happy and safe. But I know that isn’t true. And somewhere, my brother’s decapitated body lies as proof of that. “I only found out last night. My brother died at the front.”

Julian finally turns back around, his eyes glassy. “I’m sorry, Mare. I didn’t realize.”

“You wouldn’t. The army doesn’t report executions in their little books.”

“Executed?”

“Desertion.” The word tastes like blood, like a lie. “Even though he never would.”

After a long moment of silence, Julian puts a hand on my shoulder. “It seems we have more in common than you think, Mare.”

“What do you mean?”

“They killed my sister too. She stood in the way, and she was removed. And”—his voice drops—“they’ll do it again, to anyone they have to. Even Cal, even Maven, and especially you.”

Especially me. The little lightning girl.

“I thought you wanted to change things, Julian.”

“I do indeed. But these things take time, planning, and too much luck to count on.” He stares me up and down, like somehow he knows I’ve already taken the first step down a dark path. “I don’t want you getting in over your head.”

Too late.