Red Queen(115)

Maven nods. “I helped plan it.”

Tiberias stumbles, like his words are a physical blow. “And the shooting?”

“I chose the targets.” Cal squeezes his eyes shut, like he can block this all out.

Maven’s eyes slide past his father, to Elara, who stands close by. They hold each other’s gaze, and for a moment, I think she’s looking into his thoughts. With a jolt, I realize she won’t. She can’t let herself look.

“You told me to find a cause, Father. And I did. Are you proud of me?”

But Tiberias rounds on me instead, snarling like a bear. “You did this! You poisoned him, you poisoned my boy!” When tears spring to his eyes, I know the king’s heart, no matter how small or cold, has been broken. He loves Maven, in his own way. But it’s too late for that. “You’ve taken my son from me!”

“You have done that yourself,” I say through gritted teeth. “Maven has his own heart, and he believes in a different world as much as I do. If anything, your son changed me.”

“I don’t believe you. You have tricked him somehow.”

“She does not lie.”

Hearing Elara agree with me rips my breath away.

“Our son has always thirsted for change.” Her eyes linger on her son. She sounds afraid. “He is just a boy, Tiberias.”

Save him, I scream out in my head. She must hear me. She must.

Next to me, Maven sucks in a breath, waiting for what could be our doom.

Tiberias looks at his feet, knowing the laws better than anyone else, but Cal is strong enough to meet his brother’s gaze. I can see him remembering their life together. Flame and shadow. One cannot exist without the other.

After a long moment of hot, stifling silence, the king puts a hand on Cal’s shoulder. His head shakes back and forth, and tears track down his cheeks into his beard.

“A boy or not, Maven has killed. Together with this—this snake”—he points a shaking finger at me—“he has committed grave crimes against his own. Against me, and against you. Against our throne.”

“Father—” Cal moves quickly, putting himself between the king and us. “He is your son. There must be another way.”

Tiberias stills, putting aside the father to become king again. He wipes away his tears with a brush of the hand. “When you wear my crown, you will understand.”

The queen’s eyes narrow into blue slits. Her eyes, they’re the same as Maven’s.

“Fortunately, that will never happen,” she says plainly.

“What?” Tiberias turns to her but stops halfway, his body frozen in place.

I’ve seen this before. In the arena, long ago, when the whisper beat the strongarm. Elara even did it to me, turning me into a puppet. Again, she holds the strings.

“Elara, what are you doing?” he hisses through gritted teeth.

She replies with words I cannot hear, speaking into the king’s head. He doesn’t like her answer at all. “No!” he yells as she forces him to his knees with her whispers.

Cal bristles, his fists exploding into flame, but Elara holds a hand out, stopping him in his tracks. She has them both.

Tiberias struggles, his teeth clenched, but can’t move an inch. He can barely even speak. “Elara. Arven—!”

But my old instructor doesn’t move. Instead, he stands quietly, content to watch. It seems his loyalties lie not with the king but with the queen.

She’s saving us. For her son’s life, she’s going to save us. We bet on Cal loving me enough to change the world; we should’ve looked to the queen instead. I want to laugh, to smile, but something in Cal’s face keeps my relief at bay.

“Julian warned me,” Cal growls, still trying to break her hold. “I thought he was lying about you, about my mother, about what you did to her.”

On his knees, the king howls. It is a wretched sound, one I never want to hear again. “Coriane,” he moans, staring at the floor. “Julian knew. Sara knew. You punished her for the truth.”

Sweat beads on Elara’s forehead. She cannot hold the king and the prince for much longer.

“Elara, you have to get Maven out of here,” I tell her. “Don’t worry about me, just keep him safe.”

“Oh, don’t you fret, little lightning girl,” she sneers. “I don’t think about you at all. Though your loyalty to my son is quite inspiring. Isn’t it, Maven?” She tosses a glance over her shoulder to her son, still shackled.

In response, his arms snap out, pulling apart the metal shackles with shocking ease. They melt off his wrists in globs of hot iron, burning holes in the floor. When he rises to his feet, I expect him to defend me, to save me like I’m trying to save him. Then I realize Arven still has hold of me, and the familiar feel of sparks, of electricity, has not returned. He’s still holding me back, even though he let Maven go.