“Julian Jacos, at your service.” He sweeps into a comically low bow. “Head of House Jacos, heir to nothing more than a few old books. My sister was the late queen Coriane, and Prince Tiberias the Seventh, Cal as we all call him, is my nephew.”
Now that he says it, I can see the resemblance. Cal’s coloring is his father’s, but the easy expression, the warmth behind his eyes—those must come from his mother.
“So, you’re not going to turn me into some science experiment for the queen?” I ask, still wary.
Instead of looking offended, Julian laughs aloud. “My dear, the queen would like nothing more than for you to disappear. Discovering what you are, helping you understand it, is the last thing she wants.”
“But you’re going to do it anyway?”
Something flashes in his eyes, something like anger. “The queen’s reach is not so long as she wants you to think. I want to know what you are, and I’m sure you do too.”
As afraid as I was a moment ago, that’s how intrigued I am now. “I do.”
“That’s what I thought,” he says, smiling at me over a stack of books. “I’m sorry to say I must also do what was asked, to prepare you for the day you step forward.”
My face falls, remembering what Cal explained in the throne room. You are their champion. A Silver raised Red. “They want to use me to stop a rebellion. Somehow.”
“Yes, my dear brother-in-law and his queen believe you can do so, if used appropriately.” Bitterness drips from his every word.
“It’s a stupid idea and impossible. I won’t be able to do anything and then . . .” My voice trails away. Then they’ll kill me.
Julian follows my train of thought. “You’re wrong, Mare. You don’t understand the power you have now, how much you could control.” He clasps his hands behind his back, oddly tight. “The Scarlet Guard are too drastic for most, too much too fast. But you are the controlled change, the kind people can trust. You are the slow burn that will quench a revolution with a few speeches and smiles. You can speak to the Reds, tell them how noble, how benevolent, how right the king and his Silvers are. You can talk your people back into their chains. Even the Silvers who question the king, the ones who have doubts, can be convinced by you. And the world will stay the same.”
To my surprise, Julian seems disheartened by this. Without the buzzing cameras, I forget myself and my face curls into a sneer. “And you don’t want that? You’re a Silver, you should hate the Scarlet Guard—and me.”
“Thinking all Silvers are evil is just as wrong as thinking all Reds are inferior,” he says, his voice grave. “What my people are doing to you and yours is wrong to the deepest levels of humanity. Oppressing you, trapping you in an endless cycle of poverty and death, just because we think you are different from us? That is not right. And as any student of history can tell you, it will end poorly.”
“But we are different.” One day in this world taught me that. “We’re not equal.”
Julian stoops, his eyes boring into mine. “I’m looking at proof you are wrong.”
You’re looking at a freak, Julian.
“Will you let me prove you wrong, Mare?”
“What good will it do? Nothing will change.”
Julian sighs, exasperated. He runs a hand through his thinning chestnut hair. “For hundreds of years the Silvers have walked the earth as living gods and the Reds have been insects at their feet, until you. If that isn’t change, I don’t know what is.”
He can help me survive. Better yet, he might even help me live.
“So what do we do?”
My days take on a rhythm, always the same schedule. Protocol in the morning, Lessons in the afternoon, while Elara parades me at lunches and dinners in between. The Panther and Sonya still seem wary of me, but haven’t said anything since the luncheon. Maven’s help seems to have worked, as much as I hate to admit it.
At the next large gathering, this time in the Queen’s personal dining hall, the Irals ignore me completely. Despite my Protocol lessons, luncheon is still overwhelming as I try to remember what I’ve been taught. Osanos, nymphs, blue and green. Welle, greenwardens, green and gold. Lerolan, oblivions, orange and red. Rhambos and Tyros and Nornus and Iral and many more. How anyone keeps track of this, I’ll never know.
As usual, I’m seated next to Evangeline. I’m painfully aware of the many metal utensils on the table, all lethal weapons in Evangeline’s cruel hand. Every time she lifts her knife to cut her food, my body tenses, waiting for the blow. Elara knows what I’m thinking, as usual, but carries on through her meal with a smile. That might be worse than Evangeline’s torture, to know she takes pleasure in watching our silent war.
“And how do you like the Hall of the Sun, Lady Titanos?” the girl across from me asks—Atara, House Viper, green and black. The animos who killed the doves. “I assume it’s no comparison to the—the village you lived in before.” She says the word village like a curse and I don’t miss her smirk.
The other women laugh with her, a few whispering in scandalized voices.
It takes me a minute to respond as I try to keep my blood from boiling. “The Hall and Summerton are very different from what I’m used to,” I force out.
“Obviously,” another woman says, leaning forward to join the conversation. A Welle, judging by her green-and-gold tunic. “I took a tour of the Capital Valley once and I must say, the Red villages are simply deplorable. They don’t even have proper roads.”
We can barely feed ourselves, let alone pave streets. My jaw tightens until I think my teeth might shatter. I try to smile, but instead end up grimacing as the other women voice their agreement.
“And the Reds, well, I suppose it’s the best they can do with what they have,” the Welle continues, wrinkling her nose at the thought. “They’re suited to such lives.”
“It’s not our fault they were born serve,” a brown-robed Rhambos says airily, as if she’s talking about the weather or the food. “It’s simply nature.”
Anger curls through me, but one glance from the queen tells me I cannot act on it. Instead, I must do my duty. I must lie. “It is indeed,” I hear myself say. Under the table, my hands clench, and I think my heart might be breaking.
All over the table, the women listen attentively. Many smile, more nod as I reassert their terrible beliefs about my people. Their faces make me want to scream.