King's Cage

Cal looks sheepish. He’s a general; he’s Silver; he was born a prince. Being confused and helpless deeply unsettles him.

Cameron just bristles. “Took you just a few hours to regain your self-righteousness. Must be a new record.”

She’s right, and it stings. I hurry to catch her, Cal at my side. “I just—sorry. I thought this would be easier.”

A hand at the small of my back bleeds warmth, soothing my muscles. “What do you know that we don’t?” Cal asks, his voice achingly gentle. Part of me wants to shake him out of it. I’m not a doll—not Maven’s doll, no one’s—and I’m in control again. I don’t need to be handled. But the rest relishes his tender treatment. It’s better than anything I’ve experienced in so long.

I don’t break my stride, but I keep my voice low. “On the day House Iral and the others tried to kill Maven, he was holding a feast for two princes from Piedmont. Daraeus and Alexandret. They questioned me beforehand, asking about the Scarlet Guard, their operations in their kingdom. Something about a prince and princess.” The memory sharpens into focus. “Charlotta and Michael. They’re missing.”

A dark cloud crosses Cal’s face. “We heard the princes were in Archeon. Alexandret died afterward. In the assassination attempt.”

I blink, surprised. “How do you—”

“We kept tabs on you as best we could,” he explains. “It was in the reports.”

Reports. The word spirals. “Is that why Nanny was embedded in court? To keep an eye on me?”

“Nanny was my fault,” Cal spits out. He glares at his feet. “No one else’s.”

Next to him, Cameron scowls. “Damn right.”

“Miss Barrow!”

The voice isn’t a shock. Where the Scarlet Guard goes, so does Colonel Farley. He looks almost the same as always: careworn, gruff, and brutish, close-cropped white-blond hair, his face lined with premature stress, and one eye clouded with a permanent film of scarlet blood. The only changes are the steady graying of his hair, as well as a sunburn across his nose and more freckles on his exposed forearms. The Lakelander isn’t used to Piedmont sunshine, and he’s been here long enough to feel it.

Lakelander soldiers of his own, their uniforms a split of red and blue, accompany him in flanking position. Two others in green trail along as well. I recognize Rash and Tahir at a distance, walking in even step. Farley isn’t with them. And I don’t see her on the concrete, leaving one of the airjets. It isn’t like her to turn from a fight—unless she never made it out of Norta. I swallow the sobering thought and focus on her father.

“Colonel.” I dip my head in greeting.

He surprises me when he puts out one incredibly callused hand.

“Good to see you whole,” he says.

“Whole as can be expected.”

That unsettles him. He coughs, looking between the three of us. A precarious place to be for a man who openly fears what we are.

“I’m going to see my family now, Colonel.”

There’s no reason to ask permission. I move to sidestep him, but his hand stops me cold. This time, I fight the gut urge to flinch away. No one else is going to see my fear. Not right now. Instead, I level my eyes on his, and let him realize exactly what he’s doing.

“This isn’t my decision,” the Colonel says firmly. He raises his eyebrows, imploring me to listen. Then he tips his head to the side. Over his shoulder, Rash and Tahir nod at me.

“Miss Barrow—”

“We’ve been instructed—”

“—to escort you—”

“—to your debriefing.”

The twins blink at me in unison, finishing their maddening tandem speech. Like the Colonel, they sweat in the humidity. It makes their matching black beards and ocher skin gleam.

Instead of punching them both, as I wish I could, I take a small step back. Debriefing. The thought of explaining all I’ve been through to some Guard strategist makes me want to scream or storm—or both.

Cal cuts between us, if only to cushion whatever blow I might send their way.

“You’re really going to make her do this now?” His tone of disbelief is undercut with warning. “It can wait.”

The Colonel exhales slowly, the picture of exasperation. “It may seem heartless”—he throws a cutting glare at the Montfort twins—“but you have vital information on our enemies. These are our orders, Barrow.” His voice softens. “I wish they weren’t.”

With a light touch, I push Cal to the side. “I’m—going—to—see—my—family—now!” I shout, speaking back and forth between the insufferable twins. They just scowl.

“How rude,” Rash mutters.

“Quite rude,” Tahir mutters back.

Cameron conceals a low laugh as a cough. “Don’t tempt her,” she warns. “I’ll look the other way if lightning strikes.”

“The orders can wait,” Cal adds, using all of his military training to seem commanding, even if he has little authority here. The Scarlet Guard sees him as a weapon, nothing more. I know because I used to see him the same way.

The twins don’t budge. Rash blusters, drawing himself up like a bird fluffing its feathers. “Certainly you have as much motive as anyone to aid in King Maven’s downfall?”

“Certainly you know the best ways to defeat him?” Tahir carries on.