“Because she was your brother’s betrothed and your whore,” the king replies, matter-of-fact.

If she’s ashamed or even apologetic, Evangeline does not show it. “Oh, that.” She even scoffs, taking the accusation in stride. “How could she learn much of anything from me? You conspire so well to keep me from councils and politics. If anything, she did you a favor in keeping me pleasantly occupied.”

Their bickering reminds me of another king and another queen: Maven’s parents, fighting after the Scarlet Guard attacked a party at the Hall of the Sun. Each ripping at the other, leaving deep wounds to be exploited later.

“Then submit to interrogation, Evangeline, and we’ll see,” he fires back, pointing with one jeweled hand.

“No daughter of mine will ever do such a thing,” Volo rumbles, though it hardly seems a threat. Merely a fact. “She had no part in this, and she defended you with her own life. Without Evangeline’s and my son’s quick action—well, even to say it is treason.” The old patriarch pulls a frown, wrinkling his white skin, as if the thought is so disgusting. As if he wouldn’t celebrate if Maven died. “Long live the king.”

In the center of the floor, the Haven woman snarls, trying to shove off Trio. He holds firm, keeping her on her knees. “Yes, long live the king!” she says, glaring at us. “Tiberias the Seventh! Long live the king!”

Cal.

Maven stands, slamming his fists against the arms of his seat. I expect the room to burn, but no fire springs to life. It can’t. Not while he sits on Silent Stone. His eyes are the only thing aflame. And then, slowly, with a manic grin, he begins to laugh.

“All this . . . for him?” he says, smirking. “My brother murdered the king, our father, helped murder my mother, and now he tries to murder me. Samson, if you would continue”—he inclines his head in his cousin’s direction—“I have no mercy or remorse for traitors. Especially stupid ones.”

The rest turn to watch the interrogation continue, to listen to the Haven woman as she spouts secrets of her faction, their goals, their plans. To replace Maven with his brother. To make Cal king as he was born to be. To return things to the way they were.

Through it all, I stare at the boy on the throne. He maintains his mask. Jaw clenched, lips pressed into a thin, unforgiving line. Still fingers, straight back. But his gaze wavers. Something in his eyes has gone far away. And at his collar, the slightest gray flush rises, painting his neck and the tips of his ears.

He’s terrified.

For a second, it makes me happy. Then I remember—monsters are most dangerous when they’re afraid.

ELEVEN

Cameron

Even though it would have turned me into an icicle, I wanted to stay behind in Trial. Not out of fear, but to prove a point. I’m not some weapon to be used, not like Barrow allowed herself to be. No one gets to tell me where to go or what to do. I’m done with that. I’ve lived my entire life that way. And every instinct in me tells me to stay away from the Guard’s operation in Corvium, a fortress city that swallows every soldier and spits out their bones.

Except that my brother, Morrey, is only a few miles away now, still firmly stuck in a trench. Even with my ability, I’ll need help to get to him. And if I want anything from this stupid Guard, I’m going to have to start giving them something in return. Farley made that clear enough.

I like her, more now after she apologized for the “utilizing” comment. She says what she means. She doesn’t mope, though she has every right. Not like Cal, who broods around every corner, refusing to help and then relenting when he feels like it. The fallen prince is exhausting. I don’t know how Mare could stand him or his inability to choose a damned side—especially when there’s only one side he can possibly pick. Even now he blusters, wavering between wanting to protect the Silvers of Corvium and wanting to tear the city apart.

“You need to control the walls,” he mutters, standing before Farley and the Colonel. We’re operating from our headquarters in Rocasta, a less-defended supply city a few miles away from our objective. “If you control the walls, you can turn the city inside out—or take the walls down entirely. Render Corvium useless. To everyone.”

I sit idly by in the sparse room, listening to the back-and-forth from my place next to Ada. Farley’s idea. We’re two of the more visible newbloods, well known to both kinds of Reds. Including us in these meeting sends a strong message to the rest of the unit. Ada watches with wide eyes, memorizing every word and gesture. Usually Nanny would sit with us, but Nanny is gone. She was a small woman, but she leaves a very large hole. And I know whose fault that is.

My eyes burn into Cal’s back. I feel the itch of my ability, and fight the urge to bring him to his knees. He’ll kill us for Mare, and he won’t kill his own for the rest of the world. It was Nanny’s choice to infiltrate Archeon on her own, but everyone knows it wasn’t her idea.

Farley is just as angry as I am. She can barely look at Cal, even when speaking to him. “The question now is how to effectively dispatch our own. We can’t focus everyone on the walls, important as they are.”

“By my count, ten thousand Red soldiers occupy Corvium at any given time.” I almost laugh at Ada’s humbleness. By my count. Her count is perfect, and everyone knows it. “Military protocol dictates one officer to every ten, giving us at least one thousand Silvers inside the city, not accounting for command units and administration. Neutralizing them should be our objective.”