Inside, droves of Red servants line the walls in their best uniforms, their shoes polished and eyes on the floor. None look at me, and I keep to myself, musing instead on the governor’s mansion. I expected greenwarden artistry and I am not disappointed. Flowers of every kind dominate the foyer, blooming from crystal vases, painted on the walls, molded on the ceiling, worked in glass in the chandeliers or in stone mosaic on the floor. The smell should be overwhelming. Instead, it’s intoxicating, calming with every breath. I inhale deeply, allowing myself this one small pleasure.

More of House Welle wait to greet the king, falling over themselves to bow or curtsy or compliment Maven on everything from his laws to his shoes. As he suffers them all, Evangeline joins us, having already discarded her furs with some poor servant.

I tense as she pauses next to me. All the greenery reflects in her clothing, giving her a sickly hue. With a jolt, I realize her father isn’t here. He usually hovers between her and Maven at events like this, quick to step in when her temper threatens to boil over. But he isn’t here now.

Evangeline says nothing, content to stare at Maven’s back. I watch her watch him. Her fist clenches when the governor leans to whisper in Maven’s ear. Then he beckons to one of the Silvers waiting, a tall, thin woman with jet-black hair, swooping cheekbones, and cool, ocher skin. If she’s part of House Welle, she doesn’t look it. Not a scrap of green on her. Instead, her clothes are gray-blue. The woman bows her head stiffly, careful to keep her eyes on Maven’s face. His demeanor changes, his smile widening for an instant. He mutters something back, his head bobbing in excitement. I catch a single word.

“Now,” he says. The governor and the woman oblige.

They walk away together, Sentinels in tow. I glance at the Arvens, wondering if we’re meant to go too, but they don’t move.

Evangeline doesn’t either. And for whatever reason, her shoulders droop and her body relaxes. Some weight has fallen away.

“Stop staring at me,” she snaps, knocking me from my observations.

I drop my head, letting her win this small, insignificant exchange. And I continue to wonder. What does she know? What does she see that I don’t?

As the Arvens lead me away to whatever my cell for the evening may be, my heart sinks in my chest. I left Julian’s books in Whitefire. Nothing will comfort me tonight.

FOURTEEN

Mare

Before my capture, I spent months crisscrossing the country, evading Maven’s hunters and recruiting newbloods. I slept on a dirt floor, ate what we could steal, spent all my waking hours either feeling too much or too little, trying my best to stay ahead of all our demons. I didn’t handle the pressure well. I shut down and shut out my friends, my family, everyone close to me. Anyone who wanted to help or understand. Of course I regret it. Of course I wish I could go back to the Notch, to Cal and Kilorn and Farley and Shade. I would do things differently. I would be different.

Sadly, no Silver or newblood can change the past. My mistakes cannot be undone, forgotten, or ignored. But I can make amends. I can do something now.

I’ve seen Norta, but as an outlaw. From the shadows. The view from Maven’s side, as part of his extensive entourage, is like the difference between night and day. I shiver beneath my coat, hands clasped together for warmth. Between the crushing power of the Arvens and my manacles, I’m more susceptible to the temperature. Despite my hatred for him, I find myself inching closer to Maven, if only to take advantage of his constant heat. On his other side, Evangeline does the opposite, keeping her distance. She focuses more on Governor Welle than the king, and mutters to him occasionally, her voice low enough not to disturb Maven’s speech.

“I’m humbled by your welcome, as well as your support for a young and untested king.”

Maven’s voice echoes, magnified by microphones and speakers. He doesn’t read from any paper and somehow seems to make eye contact with every person crowding the city square below the balcony. Like everything about the king, even the location is a manipulation. We stand above hundreds, looking down, elevated beyond the reach of mere humans. The assembled people of Arborus, Governor Welle’s own capital within his domain, stare up, faces raised in a way that makes my skin itch. The Reds jostle for a better look. They’re easy to pick out, standing in bunches, covered in mismatched layers, their faces flushed red with cold, while the Silver citizenry sit in furs. Black-uniformed Security officers dot the crowd, vigilant as the Sentinels posted on the balcony and neighboring rooftops.

“It is my hope that this coronation tour allows me not only a deeper understanding of my kingdom, but a deeper understanding of you. Your struggles. Your hopes. Your fears. Because I am certainly afraid.” A murmur goes through the crowd below, as well as the assembled party on the balcony. Even Evangeline glances sidelong at Maven, eyes narrowed over the flawless white collar of her fur wrap. “We are a kingdom on the brink, threatening to shatter under the weight of war and terrorism. It is my solemn duty to prevent this from happening, and save us from the horrors of whatever anarchy the Scarlet Guard wishes to instill. So many are dead, in Archeon, in Corvium, in Summerton. My own mother and father among them. My own brother corrupted by the insurrectionist forces. But even so, I am not alone. I have you. I have Norta.” He sighs slowly, a muscle ticking in his cheek. “And we will stand together against the enemies seeking to destroy our way of life, Red and Silver. I pledge my life to eradicating the Scarlet Guard, in any way possible.”