“You said you tried to save him. That your guards stopped you.”

“An explosion at headquarters. The reports said it was Lakelander infiltration.” Somewhere, a clock ticks as the minutes slide by. His silence stretches as he decides what to say, how far to let the mask slip. But it’s already gone. He’s bare as he can only be with me. “We were alone. I lost control.”

I see it in my mind’s eye, filling in what he can’t will himself to tell me. An ammunitions depot maybe. Or even a gas line. Both need only flame to kill.

“I didn’t burn. He did.”

“Maven—”

“Even my mother could not cut that memory away. Even she couldn’t make me forget, no matter how I begged her to. I wanted her to take that pain from me, and she tried so many times. Instead, it always got worse.”

I know how he’s going to answer my question, but I ask all the same.

“Please let me go?”

“I won’t.”

“Then you’re going to let me die too. Like him.”

The room crackles with heat, sending sweat down my spine. He stands so quickly, he knocks back his chair, letting it crash to the floor. One fist collides with the tabletop before raking sideways, throwing plates, glasses, and reports to the floor. The papers float for a moment, suspended in air before drifting down to the shattered pile of crystal and porcelain.

“I won’t,” he growls under his breath, so low I almost don’t hear him as he stalks from the room.

The Arvens enter and seize me beneath my arms, pulling me away from the table of papers, all of them slipping from reach.

I’m surprised to learn that Maven’s usually meticulous schedule of hearings and court gatherings is suspended for the rest of the day. I guess our conversation had a stronger effect than I expected. His absence confines me to my room, to Julian’s books. I force myself to read, if only to block out any memories of the morning. Maven is a talented liar, and I don’t trust a single word he speaks. Even if he was telling the truth. Even if he is a product of his mother’s meddling, a thorned flower forced to grow a certain way. That doesn’t change things. I can’t forget everything he’s done to me and so many others. When I first met him, I was seduced by his pain. He was the boy in shadow, a forgotten son. I saw myself in him. Second always to Gisa, the bright star in my parents’ world. I know now that was by design. He caught me back then, ensnaring me in a prince’s trap. Now I’m in a king’s cage. But so is he. My chains are Silent Stone. His is the crown.

The country of Norta was forged from smaller kingdoms and lordships, ranging in size from the Samos kingdom of the Rift to the city-state Delphie. Caesar Calore, a Silver lord of Archeon and a talented tactician, united fractured Norta against the looming threat of joint invasion by Piedmont and the Lakelands. Once he crowned himself king, he married his daughter Juliana to Garion Savanna, the ruling high prince of Piedmont. This act cemented a lasting alliance between House Calore and the princes of Piedmont. Many children of Calore and Piedmont royalty upheld the marriage alliance for the following centuries. King Caesar brought an age of prosperity to Norta, and as such, Nortan calendars consider the beginning of his reign the demarcation of the “New Era,” or NE.

It takes me three tries to get through the paragraph. Julian’s histories are much denser than what I had to learn in school. My thoughts keep drifting. Black hair, blue eyes. Tears Maven refuses to show, even to me. Is it another performance? What do I do if it is? What do I do if it isn’t? My heart breaks for him; my heart hardens against him. I push on to avoid such thoughts.

In contrast, relations between newly founded Norta and the extensive Lakelands deteriorated. Following a series of border wars with Prairie in the second century NE, the Lakelands lost vital agricultural territory in the Minnowan region as well as control of the Great River (also known as the Miss). Taxation following the war, as well as the threat of famine and Red rebellion, forced expansion along the Nortan border. Skirmishes sparked on either side. To prevent further bloodshed, King Tiberias the Third of Norta and King Onekad Cygnet of the Lakelands met in a historic summit at the crossing of Maiden Falls. Negotiations fell apart quickly, and in 200 NE, both kingdoms declared war, each blaming the other for the breakdown in their diplomatic relations.

I can’t help but laugh. Nothing ever changes.

Known as the Lakelander War in Norta, and the Aggression in the Lakelands, the conflict is still ongoing at the time of writing. Total Silver death tolls number approximately five hundred thousand, most in the first decade of war. Accurate records for Red soldiers are not kept, but estimates put the total death toll in excess of fifty million, with casualties more than twice that number. Both Lakelander and Nortan casualties are equal in proportion to their native Red populations.

It takes longer than I care to admit, but I scratch out the math in my head. Almost one hundred times more. If this book belonged to anyone other than Julian, I would throw it away in rage.

A century of war and wasteful bloodshed.

How can anyone change something like that?

For once I find myself counting on Maven’s ability to twist and scheme. Perhaps he can see a way—forge a path—that no one before him has imagined.

THIRTEEN

Mare

A week passes until I leave my room again. Even though they’re a gift from Maven, a reminder of his strange obsession with me, I’m glad for Julian’s books. They’re my only company. A piece of a friend in this place. I keep them close, alongside Gisa’s silk scrap.