Red Queen
: Chapter 23

By the time the boat docks at the western bank and we’re back on land, night has fallen. At home, this meant shutting down the power and going to sleep, but not in Archeon. If anything, the city seems to brighten while the rest of the world goes dark. Fireworks crackle overhead, raining light down on the Bridge, and atop Whitefire, a red-and-black flag rises. The king is back on this throne.

Thankfully there are no more pageants to suffer through; we are greeted by armored transports to take us up from the docks. To my delight, Maven and I have a transport to ourselves, joined by only two Sentinels. He points out landmarks as we pass, explaining what seems like every statue and street corner. He even mentions his favorite bakery, though it sits on the other side of the river.

“The Bridge and East Archeon are for civilians, the common Silvers, though many are richer than some nobles.”

“Common Silvers?” I almost have to laugh. “There’s such a thing?”

Maven just shrugs. “Of course. They’re merchants, businessmen, soldiers, officers, shop owners, politicians, land barons, artists, and intellectuals. Some marry into High Houses, some rise above their station, but they don’t have noble blood, and their abilities aren’t as, well, powerful.”

Not everyone is special. Lucas told me that once. I didn’t know he meant Silvers too.

“Meanwhile, West Archeon is for the court of the king,” Maven continues. We pass a street lined with lovely stone houses and pruned, flowering trees. “All the High Houses keep residences here, to be close to the king and government. In fact, the entire country can be controlled from this cliff, if the need should arise.”

That explains the location. The western bank is sharply sloped, with the palace and the other government buildings sitting at the crest of a hill overlooking the Bridge. Another wall surrounds the hilltop, fencing in the heart of the country. I try not to gawk when we pass through the gate, revealing a tiled square the size of an arena. Maven calls it Caesar’s Square, after the first king of his dynasty. Julian mentioned King Caesar before, but fleetingly; our lessons never got much further than the First Divide, when red and silver became much more than colors.

Whitefire Palace occupies the southern side of the Square, while the courts, treasury, and administrative centers take up the rest. There’s even a military barracks, judging by the troops drilling in the walled yard. They are Cal’s Shadow Legion, who traveled ahead of us to the city. A comfort to the nobles, Maven called them. Soldiers within the walls, to protect us if another attack should come.

Despite the hour, the Square bustles with activity as people rush toward a severe-looking structure next to the barracks. Red-and-black flags, emblazoned with the sword symbol of the army, hang from its columns. I can just see a little stage set up in front of the building, with a podium surrounded by bright spotlights and a growing crowd.

Suddenly the gaze of cameras, heavier than I’m used to, lands on our transport, following us as the line of vehicles passes by the stage. Luckily we keep driving, moving through an archway to a small courtyard, but then we pull to a stop.

“What’s this?” I whisper, grabbing on to Maven. Until now, I’ve kept my fear in check, but between the lights and the cameras and the crowd, my wall begins to crumble.

Maven sighs heavily, more annoyed than anything. “Father must be giving a speech. Just some saber rattling to keep the masses happy. The people love nothing more than a leader promising victory.”

Maven steps out, pulling me along with him. Despite my makeup and my clothes, I feel suddenly very bare. This is for a broadcast. Thousands, millions, will see this.

“Don’t worry, we just have to stand and look stern,” he mutters in my ear.

“I think Cal has that covered.” I nod to where the prince broods, still attached at the hip to Evangeline.

Maven snickers to himself. “He thinks speeches are a waste of time. Cal likes action, not words.”

That makes two of us, but I don’t want to admit I have anything in common with Maven’s older brother. Maybe once, I thought so, but not now. Not ever again.

A bustling secretary beckons us. His clothes are blue and gray, the colors of House Macanthos. Maybe he knew the colonel; maybe he was her brother, her cousin. Don’t, Mare. This is the last place to lose your nerve. He doesn’t spare a glance at us when we fall into place, standing behind Cal and Evangeline, with the king and queen at the head. Strangely, Evangeline is not her usual cool self; I can see her hands shaking. She’s afraid. She wanted the spotlight, she wanted to be Cal’s bride, and yet she’s scared of it. How can that be?

And then we’re moving, walking into a building with too many Sentinels and attendants to count. Inside, the structure is built for function, with maps and offices and council rooms instead of paintings or salons. People in gray uniforms busy themselves in the hall, though they stop to let us pass. Most of the doors are closed, but I manage to catch a glimpse inside a few. Officers and soldiers look down at maps of the war front, arguing over the placement of legions. Another room spilling with thunderous energy seems to hold a hundred video screens, each one operated by a soldier in battle uniform. They speak into headsets, barking orders to faraway people and places. The words differ, but the meaning is the same.

“Hold the line.”

Cal lingers before the door to the video room, craning his neck to get a better look, but it suddenly slams in his face. He bristles but doesn’t protest, falling back into line with Evangeline. She mutters to him quietly, but he shakes her off, to my delight.

But my smile fades as we step back out into blinding lights on the front steps of the structure. A bronze plaque next to the door reads War Command. This place is the heart of the military—every soldier, every army, every gun is controlled from within. My stomach rolls at the power here, but I can’t lose my nerve, not in front of so many. Cameras flash, blinding my sight. When I flinch, I hear a voice inside my head.

The secretary presses a paper in my hand. One glance at it, and I almost scream. Now I know what I was saved for.

Earn your keep, Elara’s voice whispers in my head. She glances at me from Maven’s other side, doing her best not to grin.

Maven follows her wretched gaze and notes the paper in my shaking hand. Slowly, he winds his fingers around my own, as if he could pour his strength into me. I want nothing more than to rip the paper in two, but he holds me steady.

“You must,” is all he says, whispering so low I can barely hear him. “You must.”

“My heart grieves for the lives lost, but know that they were not lost in vain. Their blood will fuel our resolve and drive us to overcome the difficulties ahead. We are a nation at war, we have been for nearly a century, and we are not unaccustomed to obstacles in the path to victory. These people will be found, these people will be punished, and this disease they call rebellion will never take hold in my country.”

The video screen in my new bedroom is about as useful as a bottomless boat, playing the king’s speech from last night in a nauseating loop. By now I can recite the whole thing word for word, but I can’t stop watching. Because I know who comes next.

My face looks strange on the screen, too pale, too cold. I still can’t believe I kept a straight face while I read the words. When I step up to the podium, taking the king’s place, I don’t even tremble.

“I was raised by Reds. I believed I was one. And I saw firsthand the grace of His Majesty the king, the just ways of our Silver lords, and the great privilege they gave us. The right to work, to serve our country, to live and live well.” On-screen, Maven puts a hand on my arm. He nods along with my speech. “Now I know I am Silver born, a lady of House Titanos, and one day, a princess of Norta. My eyes have been opened. A world I never dreamed of exists, and it is invincible. It is merciful. And these terrorists, murderers of the most evil kind, are trying to destroy the bedrock of our nation. This we cannot allow.”

In the safety of my room, I heave a ragged breath. The worst is coming.

“In his wisdom, King Tiberias has drafted the Measures, to root out this sickness of rebellion, and to protect the good citizens of our nation. They are as follows: As of today, a sunset curfew is in effect for all Reds. Security will be doubled in every Red village and town. New outposts will be built on the roads and manned to full capacity. All Red crimes, including breaking of the curfew, will be punished by execution. And”—at this, my voice falters for the first time—“conscription age has been lowered, to the age of fifteen. Anyone who provides information leading to capture of Scarlet Guard operatives or the prevention of Scarlet Guard actions will be awarded conscription waivers, releasing up to five members of the same family from military service.”

It’s a brilliant, and terrible, maneuver. Reds will tear each other apart for such waivers.

“The Measures are to be upheld at all costs until the disease known as the Scarlet Guard is destroyed.” I stare into my own eyes on-screen, watching as I stop myself from choking on my speech. My eyes are wide, hoping my people know what I’m trying to say. Words can lie. “Long live the king.”

Anger ripples through me, and the screen shorts out, replacing my face with a black void. But I can still see each new order in my mind. More officers patrolling, more bodies hanging from the gallows, and more mothers weeping for their stolen children. We killed a dozen of theirs, and they kill a thousand of ours. Part of me knows these blows will drive some Reds to the side of the Guard, but many more will side with the king. For their lives, for their children’s lives, they will give up what little freedom they had left.

I thought being their puppet would be easy compared to everything else. I was so wrong. But I cannot let them break me, not now. Not even when my own doom lingers on the horizon. I must do everything I can until my blood is matched and my game is over. Until they drag me away and kill me.

At least my window faces the river, looking south toward the sea. When I stare at the water, I can ignore my fading future. My eyes trail from the swiftly moving current to the dark smudge on the horizon. While the rest of the sky is clear, dark clouds hover in the south, never moving from the forbidden land at the coast. The Ruined City. Radiation and fire consumed the city once and never let it go. Now it’s nothing but a black ghost sitting just out of reach, a relic of the old world.

Part of me wishes Lucas would rap on my door and hurry me along to a new schedule, but he has not returned yet. I suppose he’s better off without me risking his life.

Julian’s gift sits against the wall, a firm reminder of another friend lost. It’s a piece of the giant map, framed and gleaming behind glass. When I pick it up, something thumps to the ground, falling from the back of the frame.

I knew it.

My heart races, beating wildly as I drop to my knees, hoping to replace some secret note from Julian. But instead, there’s nothing more than a book.

Despite my disappointment, I can’t help smiling. Of course Julian would leave me another story, another collection of words to comfort me when he no longer can.

I flip open the cover, expecting to replace some new histories, but instead, handwritten words stare up at me from the title page. Red and silver. It’s in Julian’s unmistakable swirling scrawl.

The sight line of my room’s cameras beat into my back, reminding me I am not alone. Julian knew that too. Brilliant Julian.

The book looks normal, a dull study of relics found in Delphie, but hidden among the words, in the same type, is a secret worth telling. It takes me many minutes to replace every added line and I’m quietly grateful I woke up so early. Finally I have them all, and I seem to have forgotten how to breathe.

Dane Davidson, Red soldier, Storm Legion, killed on routine patrol, body never recovered. August 1, 296 NE. Jane Barbaro, Red soldier, Storm Legion, killed by friendly fire, body cremated. November 19, 297 NE. Pace Gardner, Red soldier, Storm Legion, executed for insubordination, body misplaced. June 4, 300 NE. There are more names, stretching over the last twenty years, all of them cremated or their bodies lost or “misplaced.” How anyone can misplace an executed man, I don’t know. The name at the end of the list makes my eyes water. Shade Barrow, Red soldier, Storm Legion, executed for desertion, body cremated. July 27, 320 NE.

Julian’s own words follow my brother’s name, and I feel like he’s next to me again, slowly and calmly teaching his lesson.

According to military law, all Red soldiers are to be buried in the cemeteries of the Choke. Executed soldiers have no burials and lie in mass graves. Cremation is not common. Misplaced bodies are nonexistent. And yet I found 27 names, 27 soldiers, your brother included, who suffered these fates.

All died on patrol, killed by Lakelanders or their own units, if not executed for charges without base. All were transferred to the Storm Legion weeks before dying. And all of their bodies were destroyed or lost in some way. Why? The Storm Legion is not a death squad—hundreds of Reds serve under General Eagrie without dying strangely. So why kill these 27?

For once, I was glad for the bloodbase. Even though they are long “dead,” their blood samples still remain. And now I must apologize, Mare, for I have not been entirely honest with you. You trusted me to train you, to help you, and I did, but I was also helping myself. I am a curious man, and you are the most curious thing I have ever seen. I couldn’t help myself. I compared your blood sample to theirs, only to replace an identical marker in them, different from all others.

I’m not surprised no one noticed, because they were not looking for it. But now that I knew, it was easy to replace. Your blood is red, but it is not the same. There is something new in you, something no one has seen before. And it was in 27 others. A mutation, a change that may be the key to everything you are.

You are not the only one, Mare. You are not alone. You are simply the first protected by the eyes of a thousand, the first they could not kill and hide away. Like the others, you are Red and Silver, and stronger than both.

I think you are the future. I think you are the new dawn.

And if there were 27 before, there must be others. There must be more.

I feel frozen; I feel numb; I feel everything and nothing. Others like me.

Using the mutations in your blood, I searched the rest of the bloodbase, replaceing the same in other samples. I have included them all here, for you to pass on.

I know I don’t need to tell you the importance of this list, of what it could mean to you and the rest of this world. Pass it on to someone you trust, replace the others, protect them, train them, for it is only a matter of time before someone less friendly discovers what I have—and hunts them down.

His words end there, followed by a list that makes my fingers tremble. There are names and locations, so many of them, all waiting to be found. All waiting to fight.

My mind feels like it’s on fire. Others. More. Julian’s words swim across my eyes, searing into my soul.

Stronger than both.

The little book sits snugly in my jacket, tucked in next to my heart. But before I can go to Maven, to show him Julian’s discovery, Cal replaces me. He corners me in a sitting room quite like the one we danced in, though the moon and the music are long gone. Once I wanted everything he could give me, and now the sight of him turns my stomach. He can see the revulsion in my face, as much as I try to hide it.

“You’re angry with me,” he says. It’s not a question.

“I’m not.”

“Don’t lie,” he growls, eyes suddenly on fire. I’ve been lying since the day we met. “Three days ago you kissed me, and now you can’t even look at me.”

“I’m betrothed to your brother,” I tell him, pulling away.

He dismisses the point with the wave of a hand. “That didn’t stop you before. What’s changed?”

I’ve seen who you really are, I want to scream. You’re not the gentle warrior, the perfect prince, or even the confused boy you pretend to be. As much as you try to fight it, you’re just like all of them.

“Is this about the terrorists?”

My teeth grit together painfully. “Rebels.”

“They murdered people, children, innocents.”

“You and I both know that wasn’t their fault,” I spit back, not bothering to care how cruel the words are. Cal flinches, stunned for a moment. He almost looks sick as he remembers the Sun Shooting—and the accidental explosion that followed. But it passes, slowly replaced by anger.

“But they caused it all the same,” he growls. “What I ordered the Sentinel to do, was for the dead, for justice.”

“And what did torture get you? Do you know their names, how many there are? Do you even know what they want? Have you even bothered to listen?”

He heaves a sigh, trying to salvage the conversation. “I know you have your own reasons for—for sympathizing, but their methods cannot be—”

“Their methods are your own fault. You make us work, you make us bleed, you make us die for your wars and factories and the little comforts you don’t even notice, all because we are different. How can you expect us to let that stand?”

Cal fidgets, a muscle in his cheek twitching. He has no answer to that.

“The only reason I’m not dead in a trench somewhere is because you pitied me. The only reason you’re even listening to me now is because, by some insane miracle, I happen to be another kind of different.”

Lazily, my sparks rise in my hands. I can’t imagine going back to life before my body hummed with power, but I can certainly remember it.

“You can stop this, Cal. You will be king, and you can stop this war, you can save thousands, millions, from generations of glorified slavery, if you say enough.”

Something breaks in Cal, quenching the fire he tries so hard to hide. He crosses to the window, hands clasped behind his back. With the rising sun on his face and shadow on his back, he seems torn between two worlds. In my heart, I know he is. The little part of me that still cares about him wants to close the distance between us, but I am not that foolish. I’m not a little lovesick girl.

“I thought that once,” he mutters. “But it would lead to rebellion on both sides, and I will not be the king who ruins this country. This is my legacy, my father’s legacy, and I have a duty to it.” A slow heat rumbles from him, steaming the glass window. “Would you trade a million deaths for what they want?”

A million deaths. My mind flashes back to Belicos Lerolan’s corpse, with his dead children at his side. And then other faces join the dead—Shade, Kilorn’s father, every Red soldier who died for their war.

“The Guard won’t stop,” I say softly, but I know he’s barely listening anymore. “And while they are certainly to blame, you are as well. There is blood on your hands, Prince.” And Maven’s. And mine.

I leave him standing there, hoping I’ve changed him but knowing those odds are slim at best. He is his father’s son.

“Julian’s disappeared, hasn’t he?” he calls out to me, stopping me in my tracks.

I turn slowly, mulling over what I can possibly say. I decide to play dumb. “Disappeared?”

“The escape left holes in the memories of many Sentinels, as well as the video logs. My uncle does not use his abilities often, but I know the signs.”

“You think he helped them escape?”

“I do,” he says painfully, looking at his hands. “That’s why I gave him enough time to slip away.”

“You did what?” I can’t believe my ears. Cal, the soldier, the one who always follows orders, breaking the rules for Julian.

“He’s my uncle, I did what I could for him. How heartless do you think I am?” He smirks sadly at me, not waiting for an answer. It makes me ache. “I delayed the arrest as long as I could, but everyone leaves tracks, and the queen will replace him,” he sighs, putting a hand against the glass. “And he’ll be executed.”

“You’d do that to your uncle?” I don’t bother to hide my disgust, or the fear beneath. If he’ll kill Julian, even after letting him go, what will he do to me when I’m found out?

Cal’s shoulders tighten as he straightens, morphing back into the soldier. He will hear no more of Julian or the Scarlet Guard.

“Maven had an interesting proposition.”

That was unexpected. “Oh?”

He nods, oddly annoyed at the thought of his brother. “Mavey’s always been a quick thinker. He got that from his mother.”

“Is that supposed to scare me?” I know better than any that Maven is nothing like his mother, or any other damned Silver. “What are you trying to say, Cal?”

“You’re in the open now,” he blurts out. “After your speech, the entire country knows your name and face. And so more will wonder who and what you are.”

I can only scowl and shrug. “Maybe you should’ve thought of that before you made me read that disgusting speech.”

“I’m a soldier, not a politician. You know I had nothing to do with the Measures.”

“But you’ll follow them. You’ll follow them without question.”

He doesn’t argue that. For all his faults, Cal won’t lie to me. Not now. “All records of you have been removed. Officers, archivists, no one will ever replace proof you were born Red,” he murmurs, eyes on the floor. “That is what Maven proposed.”

Despite my anger, I gasp aloud. The bloodbase. The records. “What does that mean?” I don’t have the strength to keep my voice from shaking.

“Your school record, birth certificate, blood prints, even your ID card have been destroyed.” I barely hear him over the sound of my hammering heartbeat.

Once, I would have hugged him outright. But I must remain still. I must not let Cal know he has saved me again. No, not Cal. This was Maven’s doing. This was the shadow controlling the flame.

“That sounds like the right thing to do,” I say aloud, trying to sound uninterested.

But my act can only last so long. After one stiff bow in Cal’s direction, I hurry from the room, hiding my wild grin.