Colonel’s orders, I suppose. He’ll give his daughter a cell, but not bruises.

To my dismay, Kilorn doesn’t stand idle. When the guards get her up against a wall, each one bracing a shoulder and leg, the Colonel gestures to the fish boy. With shaking hands, he pulls out a dull gray box. Syringes gleam within.

I can’t hear her voice through the glass, but it’s easy to read her lips. No. Don’t.

“Kilorn, stop it!” The window is suddenly cold and smooth beneath my hand. I beat against it, trying to catch his attention. “Kilorn!”

But he squares his shoulders, turning his back so I can’t see his face. The Colonel does the opposite, staring at me instead of the syringe plunging into his daughter’s neck. Something strange flickers deep in his good eye—regret, maybe? No, this is not a man with doubts. He’ll do whatever he must, to whoever he must.

Kilorn pulls back after doing the deed, the empty syringe sharp in his hand. He waits, watching Farley thrash against her captors. But her movements slow and her eyelids droop as the drugs take hold. Finally she sags against the Lakelander guards, unconscious, and they drag her to the cell across from mine. They lay her down before locking the door, shutting her in just like Cal—just like me.

When her door clangs shut, the lock in mine clicks open.

“Redecorating?” the Colonel says with a sniff, eyeing the dented table as he enters. Kilorn follows, tucking the box of syringes back into his coat, in warning. For you, if you step out of line. He avoids my stare, busying himself with the box while the door locks behind them, leaving the two guards to man the passage on the other side.

Cal glares from his seat, his expression murderous. I don’t doubt he’s thinking about all the ways he could kill the Colonel, and which would hurt the most. The Colonel knows that too, and draws a short but lethal pistol from its holster. It idles in his hand, a coiled snake waiting to strike.

“Please sit, Miss Barrow,” he says, gesturing with the gun.

Obeying his command feels like surrender, but I have no other choice. I take my seat, letting Kilorn and the Colonel stand over us. If not for the gun and the guards in the hall, watching closely, we might have a chance. The Colonel is tall, but older, and Cal’s hands would fit nicely around his throat. I would have to take Kilorn myself, relying on my knowledge of his still-healing wounds to bring the traitor down. But once we bested them, the door would still be locked, the guards still watching. Our fight would accomplish nothing at all.

The Colonel smirks, as if reading my thoughts. “Best stay in your chair.”

“You need a gun to keep two children in line?” I scoff back at him, angling my chin at the pistol in his hand. There isn’t a soul on earth who would dare call Cal a child, even without his abilities. His military training alone makes him deadly, something the Colonel knows well enough.

He ignores the insult and plants his feet in front of me, so his bloody eye bores into mine. “You know, you’re lucky I’m a progressive man. There aren’t many who would let him live”—he nods toward Cal, before sweeping back to me—“and a few who would kill you as well.”

I glance at Kilorn, hoping he realizes what side he’s on. He fidgets like a little boy. If we were children again, still the same size, I would punch him squarely in the stomach.

“You’re not keeping me around for the pleasure of my company,” Cal says, cutting right through the Colonel’s dramatics. “So what are you going to trade me for?”

The Colonel’s reaction is the only confirmation I need. His jaw clenches, tightening in anger. He wanted to say the words himself, but Cal’s taken the wind out of his sails.

“Trade,” I murmur, though it comes out more like a hiss. “You’re going to trade away one of the best weapons you’ve got? How stupid are you?”

“Not stupid enough to think he’ll fight for us,” the Colonel replies. “No, I leave that foolish hope to you, lightning girl.”

Don’t rise to the bait. It’s what he wants. Still, it takes everything in me to stare straight ahead, and keep my eyes from Cal. Truthfully, I don’t know where his loyalties lie, or who he fights for. I only know who he’ll fight against—Maven. Some would think that puts us on the same side. But I know better. Life and war are not so simple as that.

“Very well, Colonel Farley.” He flinches when I use his last name. His head turns slightly, resisting the urge to look back at his daughter unconscious in her cell. There’s pain there, I note, filing it away for later use.

But the Colonel responds to my jab in kind. “The king has put forth a bargain,” he says, his words pressing like a knife on the verge of drawing blood. “In exchange for the exiled prince, King Maven has agreed to reinstate the traditional age of conscription. Back to eighteen, instead of fifteen years old.” He lowers his eyes, his voice dropping with them. For a brief, splintering moment, I catch a glimpse of the father beneath the brutal exterior. His mind wanders to the children sent to die. “It’s a good deal.”

“Too good,” I say quickly, my tone hard and strong enough to hide the fear beneath. “Maven will never honor such a trade. Never.”

To my left, Cal exhales slowly. He draws his hands together, fingers steepled, displaying the many cuts and bruises he’s earned over the last few days. They twitch in succession, one after the other. A distraction from whatever truth he’s trying to avoid.

“But you have no choice,” Cal says, his hands finally still. “Turning down the deal dooms them all.”

The Colonel nods. “Indeed. Take heart, Tiberias. Your death will save thousands of innocent children. They are the only reason you’re still breathing.”

Thousands. Certainly they’re worth Cal, certainly. But deep in my heart, in the twisted, cold part of myself I’m starting to know all too well, something disagrees. Cal is a fighter, a leader, a killer, a hunter. And you need him.

In more ways than one.

Something glitters in Cal’s eye. If not for the Silent Stone, I know his hands would shudder with flame. He leans forward slightly, lips pulling back against his even, white teeth. It’s so aggressive and animalistic I expect to see fangs.

“I am your rightful king, Silver-born for centuries,” he replies, seething. “The only reason you’re still breathing is because I can’t burn the oxygen from this room.”

I’ve never heard such a threat from Cal, so visceral it cuts my insides. And the Colonel, usually calm and stoic, feels it as well. He pulls back too quickly, almost stumbling into Kilorn. Like Farley, he’s embarrassed by his fear. For a moment, his complexion matches his bloody eye, making him look like a tomato with limbs. But the Colonel is made of sterner stuff, and chases away his fear in a single, collected moment. He smooths back his white-blond hair, pressing it flat to his skull, and holsters his gun with a satisfied sigh.

“Your boat leaves tonight, Your Royal Highness,” he says with a crack of his neck. “I advise you to say good-bye to Miss Barrow. I doubt you’ll see her ever again.”

My hand closes around the seat of my chair, digging into the cold, rough metal. If only my name was Evangeline Samos. Then I would wrap this chair around the Colonel’s throat until he tasted iron and saw blood in both eyes.