Before my brain can attempt to connect the dots, before even the briefest whisper of excitement can ripple in my mind, Maven speaks, and smashes my hope to pieces.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” His voice echoes from my left, farther down the platform. He stands there, waiting, a guard of Sentinels around him, along with Evangeline and Ptolemus. All of them wear coats like mine, with ample fur to keep them warm. Both Samos children are resplendent in black sable.
Maven steps toward me, grinning with the confidence of a wolf. “The Scarlet Guard aren’t the only ones capable of building trains.”
The Undertrain rattled and sparked and rusted all over, a tin heap threatening to split apart at its welds. Still, I prefer it to this glamorous slug.
“Your friends gave me the idea, of course,” Maven says from his plush seat across from me. He lazes, proud of himself. I see none of his psychic wounds today. They’re carefully hidden, either pushed aside or forgotten for the moment.
I fight the urge to curl up in my own seat, and I keep both feet firmly planted on the floor. If something goes wrong, I have to be ready to run. As in the palace, I note every inch of Maven’s train, looking for any kind of advantage. I find none. No windows, and Sentinels and Arven guards are planted at either end of the long compartment. It’s furnished like a salon, with paintings, upholstered chairs and couches, even crystal lights tinkling with the motion of the train. But as with everything Silver, I see the cracks. The paint has barely dried. I can smell it. The train is brand-new, untested. At the other end of the compartment, Evangeline’s eyes dart back and forth, betraying her attempt to seem calm. The train rattles her. I bet she can feel every piece of it moving at high speed. It’s a hard sensation to get used to. I never could, always sensing the pulse of machines like the Undertrain or the Blackrun jet. I used to feel the electric blood—I guess she can feel the metal veins.
Her brother sits beside her, glowering at me. He shifts once or twice, nudging her shoulder. Her pained expression relents every time, calmed by his presence. I guess if the new train explodes, they’re strong enough to survive the shrapnel.
“They managed to escape so quickly from the Bowl of Bones, riding the ancient rails all the way to Naercey before even I could get there. I figured it wouldn’t be so bad to have a little escape route of my own,” Maven continues, drumming his fingers on his knee. “You never know what new concoction my brother may dream up in his attempt to overthrow me. Best to be prepared.”
“And what are you escaping from right now?” I mumble, trying to keep my voice low.
He only shrugs and laughs. “Don’t act so glum, Mare. I’m doing us both a favor.” Grinning, he sinks back in his seat. He kicks his feet up, putting them onto the seat beside me. I wrinkle my nose at the action, angling away. “One can only tolerate the prison of Whitefire Palace for so long.”
Prison. I bite back a retort, forcing myself to humor him. You have no idea what a prison is, Maven.
Without windows or any kind of bearing, I have no way to know where we may be headed or how far this infernal machine can travel. It certainly feels as fast as the Undertrain, if not faster. I doubt we’re heading south, to Naercey, a ruined city now abandoned even by the Scarlet Guard. Maven made such a show of destroying the tunnels after the infiltration of Archeon.
He lets me think, watching as I puzzle out the picture around us. He knows I don’t have enough pieces to make it whole. Still, he lets me try, and doesn’t offer any more explanation.
The minutes tick by, and I turn my focus to Ptolemus. My hate for him has only grown over the last few months. He killed my brother. He took Shade from this world. He would do the same to everyone I love if given the chance. For once, he’s without his scaled armor. It makes him seem smaller, weaker, more vulnerable. I fantasize about cutting his throat and staining Maven’s freshly painted walls with Silver blood.
“Something interest you?” Ptolemus snarls, meeting my gaze.
“Let her stare,” Evangeline says. She leans back in her seat and tips her head, never breaking eye contact. “She can’t do much more than that.”
“We’ll see,” I growl back. In my lap, my fingers twitch.
Maven clucks his tongue, chiding. “Ladies.”
Before Evangeline can retort, her focus shifts and she looks away, at the walls, at the floor, at the ceiling. Ptolemus matches her action. They sense something I can’t. And then the train around us starts to slow, its gears and mechanisms screeching against iron tracks.
“Nearly there, then,” Maven says, easing to his feet. He offers me a hand.
For a moment, I entertain the idea of biting his fingers off. Instead, I put my hand in his, ignoring the crawling sensation under my skin. When I stand, his thumb grazes the raised edge of my manacle beneath my glove. A firm reminder of his hold over me. I can’t stand it and pull away, folding my arms over my chest to create a barrier between us. Something darkens in his bright eyes, and he puts up a shield of his own.
Maven’s train stops so smoothly I barely feel it. The Arvens do, though, and snap to my side, surrounding me with exhausting familiarity. At least I’m not chained up or leashed.
Sentinels flank Maven as the Arvens flank me, their flaming robes and black masks foreboding as always. They let Maven set the pace, and he crosses the length of the compartment. Evangeline and Ptolemus follow, forcing me and my guards to take up the back of the strange procession. We follow them through the door, into a vestibule connecting one compartment to the next. Another door, another long stretch of opulent furnishings, this time in a dining room. Still no windows. Still no hint as to where we might be.