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Chapter Text

Farley

I shiver in my jacket, my breath puffing in the dimming light. March in Montfort is bloody freezing, especially outside, and the cold metal barstool I’m sitting on doesn’t help. The setting sun tinges the sky pink, meaning the lanterns strung overhead will be coming on soon. I’ll be thankful for the greater visibility. Anyone could be in the bustling crowd—after all, this is the Row, the center of Ascendant’s bustling nightlife, with more than enough leering men to put me on guard. I’m acutely aware of the weapons on my person: the pistol in my waistband, the tiny knives in my left boot and collar sheath. 

“Just two blades today, General?” I spin at the sound of Evangeline Samos’s sneer. “I see you’ve become complacent.” She wears a lazy smirk and her military uniform, though the chrome-toed boots aren’t regulation. 

“On the contrary. I’m never caught off-guard,” I say calmly, even though I just was. Samos can move near-silently when she wants to, perhaps a skill learned from her shadow girlfriend. Shade says they’re like peas in a pod these days—following each other to meetings, the barracks, the training arena. Maybe Elane Haven is here now, invisibly listening in on our conversation. 

Static electricity fills the air, a familiar aura and dead giveaway. My short hair literally stands on end. Without warning, I reach behind me and seize someone by the wrist. 

Mare Barrow yelps, wrenching her arm out of my grasp. “Damn,” she mutters, climbing into the seat at the bar next to me. “I’ll get you next time.” I laugh, checking my back pocket for the Nortan half-crown. It’s a game we play, pickpocketing the silver piece back and forth from one another. 

“Amateurs.” Samos shakes her head, and the coin shoots into the air to land in her hand. My hand jumps to the pistol in my belt—an instinctive action, born of a lifetime on war fronts. Calm down, Di, Shade’s voice says in my head. Evangeline hands the coin back to me, and I force my hands to rest calmly in my lap. 

No one else notices. “What are you doing here?” Mare asks her.

“I could ask you the same.” Evangeline waves over the bartender,  raising a perfect eyebrow. “I frequent this venue quite often, for your information.” Over her shoulder, Mare meets my incredulous gaze. I treasure our infrequent nights out—Shade had to bring Clara to a meeting so I’d be free—and I’m loathe to share them with Samos. She and Mare are unlikely friends, but I can’t say the same. 

“The usual, Corporal?” the bartender asks, addressing Samos. 

“Actually, we’ll have three whiskey shots, please. And, Rei, I’m on leave. Evangeline is just fine.” She hands over a Montfortan dollar. “I guess the first round’s on me.” My brows furrow as I wonder what she’s playing at. It isn’t her style to give out free drinks, and the motive here certainly isn’t to make friends. 

“ Corporal Samos.” Mare claps her hands as the bartender turns their back again, the gleam in her eyes devious. “Two months in the patrol force, and you’re already rising in the ranks. What’s next, Sergeant?”

“I used to be a queen.” Evangeline shakes her head. “Now I’m sitting at a damn outdoor bar, being made fun of by the Red peasantry.” 

“The same peasantry that overthrew your kingdom,” I say coolly. “Watch your mouth, Samos.” A joke it may be, but no Silver will belittle my blood in front of me as long as I live. 

To my surprise, Samos’s cheeks flush silver, and she has the grace to look ashamed. “I’m sorry. I won’t say it again.” 

I swallow another barb rising in the back of my throat like bile. Evangeline’s apologies are few and far between, and at least she’s making an effort. I should do the same. “Thank you.”

Rei sets down a tray with three whiskey shots. Mare grabs one and downs it instantly. “I thought I’d never see the day.” She wipes her mouth with the back of one hand. “Eve and Farley, having a civil conversation? By my colors.”

“Shut it, Barrow,” the two of us say in unison before sharing a surprised glance. Secretly, I agree with Mare. Evangeline and her family stood for everything I hated. If not for Elane Haven, she’d still be treating Reds like animals. 

“How’s the house search going?” Mare asks her over the chatter in the background, gesturing for another round of shots from the bar. I look down at the pewter tray and grimace, downing the whiskey in one gulp. It tastes like liquid smoke, but the warmth it brings is a welcome distraction from the chilly evening. 

Samos shrugs, a motion that manages to be nonchalant and self-assured all at once. “Well, me, Elane, Tolly, and Wren are all on leave, so we’re looking harder than ever. But with the war and everything… the market’s been a little tight.”

Despite my misgivings about her, I feel a bolt of sympathy. Ever since the gala in October, our coalition has been mobilizing for war in the east. Army leave will be scarce for months, or maybe even years. “You’ll find something.”

Evangeline downs another shot in a manner that tells me it’ll be the second of many. “I sure as hell hope so.”

Night has fallen by the time we leave the bar. Both Evangeline and Mare can hold prodigious amounts of alcohol, but I abstained after the second round of drinks. I instinctively walk closer to Mare in the dark, unsure of how to handle Samos in a setting like this. A tapestry of stars hangs like frozen fireworks overhead, and the only sound is our boots crunching on the path uphill to Davidson’s estate, lit up white against the evergreens. It’s so dark, so remote, that I’m instinctively on guard. I can’t bring myself to forget who Evangeline used to be, and everything she once stood for.  

If Samos notices my distance, it doesn’t bother her as she chatters on about Ptolemus’s wedding plans. The alcohol has loosened her tongue, but from the way her eyes flick back and forth, surveying our surroundings, it hasn’t dulled her reflexes.“Tolly wants to get married soon, especially now that another war’s looming.” A grimace in the dark. “He’s thinking around late spring, early summer. Davidson himself volunteered to officiate.” Her brother’s wedding would’ve been a royal occasion in the old world. Perhaps Evangeline still misses it—it would be impossible not to. 

“I want front row seats.” Mare tells her.

“Bet on it, Barrow.” 

“Excellent. And, speaking of weddings—” Mare rounds on me—“how’ve you two been lately, Farley?” 

My hand brushes against the gold band on a chain around my throat. Shade and I got married in December, in the ballroom of the Premier’s Estate, as snow piled against the windows and fires crackled in the grates. It was better than anything I’d ever imagined, but I see less of my family now than I’d like. “It’s been… very busy.” 

We enter the main courtyard, our footsteps echoing off the polished granite, and I look up at the countless windows, trying to figure out which one Shade and Clara are in. He’s still working, undoubtedly, our daughter bouncing in his lap instead of in her crib at home. 

“Don’t worry, General.” Evangeline nods to the guards as we present our security clearance badges and they let us in. Her tone is uncharacteristically gentle. “The war will lull again. We’ll make it through.” She ducks her head quickly, as if embarrassed, and starts up one of the many marble staircases in the reception hall. “Goodnight.”

“Night,” Mare calls to her, but I’m too startled to do anything but walk on in silence.

*

Evangeline

The marble bannister is cool underneath my touch. I pause for a moment on the landing, taking in how Farley’s shoulders relax slightly as she and Mare exit the foyer arm in arm. Her frosty stares and curt words at the bar didn’t escape me—Farley doesn’t trust me. 

And, I muse as I unlock the door to our suite, she has no reason to. After everything I did, everything I was complicit in, I wound up in Montfort with a happy ending. My family’s power came directly from Red lives exploited in iron mines sacrificed at war fronts, and I reveled in it. There is no fucking justice in why I’m here and those thousands of people aren’t, and Farley knows it. 

Our current rooms don’t match the grandeur of our former space, when we were royalty of another nation; still, they’re far better than nothing. Davidson has no obligation to house us now, but he gave us a comfortable suite regardless. The walls are smooth forest green, accented with timber, and a door leads off the kitchenette-living area to our shared bedroom. 

It’s far more than I deserve.

Elane looks up when I enter the kitchen, always sensitive to my moods. Her fingers are stained purple from cutting fruit, and she sets down the knife with a frown. “Are you okay? How much did you drink?” Trust her to know I drank. I could sit through a full coalition meeting right now and no one would be the wiser, but Elane could know me from across the world. 

“A few shots. I’m just thinking about the usual,” I say. She’s listened every time I’ve talked about Norta, held me every time I’ve woken up in cold sweats over the war, my parents, and my past. She’s been so unfailingly good to me it takes my breath away to think about it. 

 “I’m sorry, love.” She holds out an arm to me, careful not to get fruit juice on my shirt, and I lean into the hug. “I’m always here for you.” 

“Thank you.” I hold her closer, disregarding the fruit juice, and Elane rests her head on my shoulder. “I’m okay, I promise. It’ll pass.” 

“But until then,” she says, reaching around me to rinse her hands off, “would you like to read with me?”

“Only if you’re done in here.” I glance around at the kitchen. Dishes are stacked in the sink—I’ll do those later—and a piece of fruit lies half-cut by the knife on the counter. I twitch my fingers, and the knife slowly but steadily cuts the rest into cubes.

 “You’re getting better at that,” Elane flicks her hand, splashing me with a glittering arc of water. The droplets sparkle like diamonds in midair: her own way of showing off. 

I flip her off. “You should see me sober.” Cutting fruit takes far more finesse than stopping bullets, and I haven’t been able to resist the challenge. And at the same time, it feels cathartic to use my ability on something as mundane as this. If I closed my eyes, I could be an ordinary citizen, not one of the most notorious Silvers on the continent. Not a former princess raised to betrothals and wars. 

Elane takes my hand in hers, like she knows what I’m thinking. “I’m proud of you, Eve,” she says quietly. She nods her head at the living room. “Come read with me.” 

We flop like children onto the living room rug, and she pulls our most recent volume off the little shelf by the balcony. It’s a text translated from the Horn Mountain archives, written before the Calamities. Before our time. Elane begins where we left off, following the words with one hand and tracing circles over my fingers with the other. “ Nothing more, except I don’t believe I shall ever marry. I’m happy as I am, and love my liberty too well to be in a hurry to give it up for any mortal man .”

Elane looks up, blue eyes sparkling. “Sounds like someone I know.”  

“Jo could want women,” I say, leaning closer to read the paragraph myself. “Or she could want no one.” I remember my own entangled betrothals. After everything,  Jo March and I have one fundamental difference: she could say aloud the words I was too scared to even think. “I can’t–”

I’m cut off by the blaring of our alarm system. The big book thumps to the ground as I leap to my feet, the sound driving needles through my skull. Elane slams the big balcony window shut and pulls the shutters down, following the standard alarm procedures. “Is that a drill?” she yells over at me. 

 “I don’t think so,” I say, leaning over the sofa to hit the override switch. The following silence rings in my ears, mirroring the dread spreading through me like ripples in a pond. 

“Then… a raid,” she murmurs. “In the estate.”

My mind races. Davidson is an obvious target, but Prairie raiders acting alone wouldn’t dare be so bold. They’re backed by the Lakelands, Piedmont, or both. Cal is here, as are Mare and two Scarlet Guard generals, all high-profile targets for the enemy. There’s not enough security for all of them. I throw my hand out, summoning a pair of steel-toed combat boots from our bedroom. I step into them and pull the laces tight.  “I’m going to go help.”

Elane catches my arm. “Let me—let me go with you. I can shield us both.”  Her eyes are too wide, her breathing too quick, and I hate that I’m the cause of her fear. But I have no choice—I’m oathed to Montfort, a loyalty that supercedes almost every other.

Almost. I would not give my life for this country, not if it meant leaving her alone. I try to muster a smile, even as I hear loud footsteps in the corridor outside. “I can’t. You know I can’t.” This is a good-bye we’ve reenacted too many times: every time I leave for battle, Elane asks, because she loves me. And because I love her back, I must always refuse. 

“I will come back to you.” I cover her hand with mine, and then I gently move it off my arm. 

“I’ll hold you to it,” she whispers behind me, and then I’m gone, darting out the door and down the hallway.

The sounds of fighting are coming from below me, so I rush to the nearest staircase and immediately feel nauseous. I shouldn’t have drank as much as I did, but I intended to sleep off the effects of the alcohol, not dive headfirst into a battle. I take a deep breath to ground myself before heading downstairs. For the first time, I thank the skies for battle training while being inebriated in Norta; Father left no stone unturned. 

Fire blazes in front of my face, and I launch myself backwards with a yelp. “Sorry!” Cal helps me up with one hand, lobbing flame in the opposite direction with the other. A copper jacket pings at the edge of my perception, deadly and bright, and I push back against it. My ability responds sluggishly, but with a desperate shove, the bullet ricohets backwards, burying itself in the chest of my would-be shooter. She tumbles to the ground, a look of surprise the last emotion on her face.  

“What’s going on?” I ask, my heart pounding. I have to be able to trust my ability and my movements, or I’ll walk to my death. Cutting fruit in a quiet apartment is one thing, but making these split-second decisions is another beast entirely. 

Cal shakes his head, words falling rapid-fire. “Don’t know. Estate guards were overwhelmed too quickly to react. We think raiders attacked in the middle of a coalition meeting. Our defenses are concentrated in the ballroom.”

“You’re shoring up the front door,” I realize. “To make sure no one follows.” As I speak, I do a quick scan of the room, holding down another wave of nausea as I do. No raiders remain, but I’d be an idiot to continue on weaponless. The gold gilt picture frames are useless, the bronze chandelier too drastic, so I rip the iron bars out of the windows with a wave. They feel solid in my hands, grounding me. 

“I was,” Cal corrects. “But now you’re here, if you could just...”

I push my hands together, and with a violent creaking noise, the front doors crumple shut. Spent with effort, I stumble forward, and in the split second before they close, I glimpse the prone bodies of the guards I nodded to less than half an hour ago. My throat tightens. They knew my name, but I didn’t know theirs. A splitting headache begins to throb in my right temple. 

Cal follows my gaze somberly, his fists clenching at his sides, but before he can say anything, I weld the hinges in place and stumble away.

Chapter Text

Evangeline

Somehow, the ballroom is in a worse state than the foyer. Eerie blue light glances off the huge windows and dark fireplaces, throwing long shadows across the floor. Davidson is here, then, with his shields. I also catch glimpses of Montfort, Scarlet Guard, and Nortan States insignia. “Full coalition party,” I mutter, and Cal snorts. My headache intensifies. 

With a flick of my hand, I send my iron spears into the melee, skewering two raiders. Cal blasts flame at another as I roll, grappling a fourth by the legs. They land a kick to my stomach, and I gasp, the wind knocked from my lungs. Before they can press to their advantage, I flail upwards with my steel-toed boots, catching them square in the forehead. They fall sideways to the ground like a sack of rice, and I clamber to my feet, which are no longer steady as the floor tilts beneath me. The hangover tomorrow is going to be like nothing I’ve ever seen.

I will come back to you. I’ll hold you to it. My mouth sets in a grim line as I remember my promise to Elane. I’m in no fit state to fight; I have to get out of here. The door we came in is too far away, on the other side of Cal’s streams of fire, so I turn in the opposite direction. 

I can’t see the exit on the other side of the room, but over the sounds of gunfire and grappling bodies, I hear someone cry out, their voice too high and thin. Like a child’s. 

I’ve spent a decade of my life watching Tolly’s back in a fight. An old protective instinct surges in me, and I dive into the melee. I duck past a stoneskin, her fist coming so close that my hair ruffles. My breath rasps in my throat as I shove my way through, trusting my ability to shield me from bullets. Damn my own safety and damn the whiskey shots in my blood: no child should be in this room right now.

I skid to a stop in the opposite corner, far from the light of Davidson’s blue shield wall, and the scene plays out in bits and pieces as my eyes adjust to the darkness. Red blood smears the floor beneath me—I follow the trail to see someone leaning against the wall, a tourniquet wound hastily around his thigh. A girl no older than two clings to his other leg. Then my gaze lands on the woman warding off two raiders with a short dagger, her movements ragged with exhaustion, and I realize. It’s Farley.

I jump in front of her, slamming the heel of my hand into a raider’s face and kneeing him to the ground. Almost simultaneously, I relieve the other of their saber and dispatch them with a neat stab to the chest. Farley gapes at me, but I gesture to Shade, looking paler by the second. “Worry about him.”

“Fuck.” Farley rushes to her husband’s side, inspecting the tourniquet. “You need to get help.” 

“Dad,” Clara chokes out. My heart wrenches, and I fight the urge to hug her close; Farley would have my head for that. 

It’s a mark of how bad the wound is that Shade doesn’t even argue. “I’m sorry, Clare-Bear.” A rattling breath. “You can’t come with me, you’re too young. I love you both.” He gently pries his daughter away from his leg with blood-slick hands. I can’t tell if he’s shaking from blood loss or grief, or both, before he vanishes on the spot. 

Clara gives a little cry, clutching at the air where he just was. Farley gets on her knees and folds her daughter into her arms, staring into nothing. I stand guard for both of them and think of Elane, of my promise to return to her. Every second I stay here is another second my life is at risk. But I know she would rather me do the honorable thing, rather I died saving lives than sacrificed them for our happiness. 

I gently shake Farley by the shoulder, feeling horribly exposed by focusing my attention on her. “General. Listen to me.” Farley’s the top brass in our Prairie operations: no doubt she’ll have to oversee interrogations, write reports, and attend briefings all night. But this is no place for her daughter. “You have to keep going. For the coalition’s sake, Farley, keep fighting. But you have to give me Clara. I’ll get her out of here.” 

Farley doesn’t loosen her hold. “Evangeline...” she rasps, blue eyes unreadable. I remember the spat we had at the bar. Words I shouldn’t have said, forgiveness I didn’t earn. Still, I have to get her daughter out. 

“Please. I would never, ever hurt her,” I say thickly, fighting tooth and nail to keep my expression earnest as bile rises in the back of my throat, and not just from the alcohol. From the moment I learned to talk, I was trained to do it without showing vulnerability. To speak behind smiles of falsehood and to smile behind gazes of steel. 

But I think now of Elane. Of waking up with me in the middle of the night; of cutting fruit and staining her perfect manicure; of reading with me every night; of loving and fearing openly. She loves me and I love her, and to me there is no greater truth in the world. 

For the first time in years, my voice trembles, and the walls come down. “I would die to protect your daughter. I would die before I let anything touch her.” The raider I punched is stirring, his groans drawing the attention of others in the melee. Soon our little bubble of quietude will pop, and I’ll have lost my chance. “Please, Farley,” I beg. “Trust me.”

Farley considers me, her gaze hard as adamant, and as I meet her eyes, the rest of the battle falls away. Her throat bobs as she swallows, drawing away from her daughter. “Take her.” 

“Mommy!” Clara turns away from me and towards her mother. 

Farley’s resolute expression shatters like glass. “No, honey. Go to Evangeline,” she whispers. 

My heart heavy, I reach for her. “I’m sorry.” I don’t know who I say it to: mother or child or both.

“Go,” Farley says again. 

Clara feels heavier in my arms than a two year-old should. I hold her tight and run, vowing to never, ever let go. 

*

Farley

My daughter’s betrayed expression haunts my every step. Her cries echo in my ears, above the hum of the barriers and the groans of the fallen. When I blink, white lightning and red fire burst behind my closed eyelids. I remember Tyton and Cal buying us time to get into the ballroom, but overlaid on that memory, far stronger, is Clara wailing loudly enough to rival the sirens. Until suddenly she didn’t. Like she knew what was happening, even at the age of two. 

I swallow back something that feels like a sob. The point of fighting this war is to make sure my daughter won’t have to; instead, I’ve shoved her into the crossfire. 

“All right there, Huntress?” someone asks. It takes me a moment to place the voice through my shock. It’s a fellow Command general: Palace, our liason with Montfort. “Farley?” she asks again, and I discreetly pinch the back of my own hand. Clara isn’t here anymore, and I have a job to do. 

“I’m fine. Barely a scratch on me.”

The gaze she levels at me could pierce bone. She lays a wrinkled brown hand on my arm. “You know it’s not the outside I’m concerned about.” I nearly smile. Palace—Panishka is her real name—is the closest thing to an aunt I’ve ever known. “I’ve called for a meeting after the interrogations are underway,” she continues. “It’ll be in Davidson’s study. You could head there early, get your bearings.”

I’m shaking my head even before she finishes. Prairie is my area of operations, and I need to find out what happened today. “I’m going to the interrogations.”

She purses her lips but doesn’t argue. “I’ll go to his study, then. Two of us would only make things harder.”

“Thank you.” I shoot her a grateful look before a healer whisks me aside, running her hand over the scratches on my face. Exhaustion seeps from my bones and muscles under her touch, and I’m tempted to let her drain every drop of it away. Then I remember that no skin healer can replace sleep, only take away the longing for it, and the last thing I need is to doze off without warning.

“That’ll be all, thanks.” I step away from her and nearly run headlong into Davidson.

“Huntress.” He manages a wan smile. 

I nod in return. “How are your people, Premier?”

He grimaces at that. “No one inside the estate was killed tonight, to the best of my knowledge, but I don’t know about the guards. Eleven raiders are dead, eight captured.”

“Nineteen isn’t enough for a sophisticated attack,” I say thoughtfully. A weight in my gut dissolves, the dread of the knowledge that perhaps Prairie mounted a full assault without my knowing. Montfort blood would’ve been on my hands, but that doesn’t seem like the case tonight. “I suppose we’ll wait for them to crack under interrogation.”

Davidson’s tone is grave. “We will, indeed.”

Half an hour later, after the casualties have been accounted for, we wind our way through the estate to the passageways below, where we’re joined by Representative Radis, resplendent in a pressed suit and gelled hair. The only thing betraying his exhaustion are the circles under his eyes—he must’ve leapt out of bed to meet us here. On his heels is a silver-haired, Silver-blooded woman named Magelen, who I assume is a whisper. I’ve read up on Montfort interrogation protocol: a representative of the People’s Assembly must be present, and an ethically trained mindreader, if there is such a thing, must conduct the interrogation. 

A guard unlocks the door to a row of cells. “This may be disconcerting,” the premier says to me, holding the door open. “You are, of course, under no obligation to watch.”

“You’re watching,” I say shortly, stepping past him into the room of cells. The last time I was here was over a year ago, when the sole prisoner was Maven Calore. Not much has changed since then, with the exception that now the cells hold seven prisoners, all handcuffed. The last is by herself at the far end of the room, flanked by guards in a cell free of Silent Stone so Magelen can do her work.

Davidson speaks clearly, his voice carrying through the room. His gold eyes never leave the raider’s face. “You have one chance to speak freely. Tell us everything you know, and perhaps punishment will be lenient.” I hold in a snort. Montfort is in the process of abolishing its death penalty, but we’re currently at war against extremist sects, members of whom killed guards and penetrated the Estate tonight. Davidson will have no choice but to execute.

Perhaps the Prairie woman knows this too, because she never breaks eye contact, shaking her head slowly. I’d admire the courage if she weren’t a murderous bigot. Davidson doesn’t seem surprised, stepping aside and gesturing for Magelen. She nods at him grimly and trains her gaze on the captured raider. 

The Prairie woman screws up her face, eyes blazing with resolve. Magelen widens her stance slightly, her expression resolute like a statue’s, and the raider’s muscles stiffen before going utterly slack. I glance at the other prisoners, who watch the whisper work with clenched fists and crossed arms. I’ve been in their shoes too many times to count, watching my strongest operatives break under Silver interrogation. I remember the aftermath of the Sun Shooting: the Sentinel freezing my blood until it pierced me inside out, Tristan’s neck snapping like a rabbit’s. Davidson and Radis watch with too-composed expressions as well. Montfort was forged from decades of civil war; perhaps they’ve also been on the other side of a cell and a whisper. 

I force myself to turn my attention back to the captured woman. She looks like a reanimated corpse, unnaturally still in her seat, gazing straight ahead. Reds have carried cyanide pills for decades, for fear of a capture like this, but in my experience, few Silvers do. They think themselves above death. A grim satisfaction spreads through me as I glance between Magelen and the raider she interrogates, as a newblood premier and a Red general look on. The tide is turning, and it is finally turning towards us. 

Eight minutes have passed, by my count, when Magelen visibly exhales. She doesn’t seem to take pleasure in this kind of work, unlike some other whispers I’ve come across. 

“Well?” Radis’s voice is crisp, but I hear the edges of raw nerves underneath. 

Guards seize the raider’s arms as she returns to her own mind. Magelen inclines her head gravely. “I believe I know the whole story.” 

Chapter Text

Farley

Davidson’s personal study is dead silent when we enter. This briefing is top-clearance—two newblood aides checked our abilities and gods-know-what else at the door. Two Montfortan generals, one with wire-rimmed glasses and a bald head, the other with a rumpled uniform and an impressive mustache, are already here, seated next to Palace at a small oak table. Internally, I decide to name them Baldy and Mustache on the spot. 

With a hiss of relief, I sink into the seat next to Palace, feeling my sore muscles unclench. The sky outside the small window is graying, and the drinking, battle, and interrogation have taken their toll on me. Palace gives me an encouraging smile before directing her attention to the table at large. “Well?” 

Magelen shoots a glance at the premier, who nods imperceptibly. I grab a pad of paper off a nearby shelf, and Palace slides me a pen as the whisper begins talking. “The most important thing, I think, is that last night’s events were not connected to the Lakelands, the Prairie nobility, or Piedmont. It was an isolated extremist attack.” 

“Thank the skies,” Radis murmurs, and I give a short nod in agreement. Missing a small group of terrorists, while grave, doesn’t indicate a fatal flaw in my intelligence networks. Missing an alliance between nations would’ve been another matter altogether. 

Magelen continues. “However, it seems as if while they are a very small minority of Prairie, there are still more of them out there, willing to do whatever it takes.” This isn’t anything new—Montfort has long been a target of raids. The problem is that none of them have gotten this far. “I’d wager that after tonight’s failure, though, they won’t be eager to try again in a hurry.” I try to remember if I’ve seen Magelen in the People’s Assembly or around the estate before. She clearly knows her way around strategy. 

“Nonetheless, security will be tightened,” Mustache says. “How did they breach the estate in the first place?”

“One of them was a former minister of defense.” A sudden intake of breath around the table—even Davidson looks perturbed. “Beatrice Allin.” The name clearly strikes a chord with the Baldy and Mustache, who glance quickly at one another.

“Who?” I ask, bracing my forearms against the table.

“Allin—Allin was integral to planning the security systems of the People’s Assembly and Estate,” Baldy says. “She unexpectedly resigned last fall and left, but... we thought she’d gone to Ciron.”

Last fall would’ve been just after the Nortan States formed and the Samos siblings broke the Rift throne, triggering the rise of the Silver Secession traitor group. My lip curls. “Apparently not. Where is she now?”

Magelen almost smiles. “Dead. She was killed before they even got through the front doors.”

“Let’s not be too satisfied,” Palace cuts in. “What did Allin know? What’s been compromised?”

“The People’s Assembly was renovated after she left, with new security systems in place,” Radis says thoughtfully. “So that’s safe. As for how much she knew about the Estate and the military…”

“Allin was a civilian.” Mustache takes a swig from his hip flask. “No knowledge of the military, but I believe she had access to everything on the Estate but the premier’s security detail.”

“Which is why last night’s attack failed.” Davidson laces his fingers together. “My aides—and the members of the Guard present,” he adds in my direction, “were not accounted for.”

“But she knew the guard rotations and abilities, the deactivation codes of most defense mechanisms…” Baldy trails off. “All of which will be changed immediately, of course. We might swap in a regiment from the patrols.”

“Act as you wish—you have my confidence.” The premier looks at us all above his papers, gold eyes intent. “Speaking of the guards, how many dead?”

“Seven, currently. Heaviest casualties are from the outer security screens, where our people had less backup and no warning.”

“Seven too many.” Davidson gazes down at the table before taking a deep breath to collect himself. “I’ll tell the families myself. This afternoon.”

“Our condolences,” Palace murmurs. 

Radis nods. “Thank you. While we’re on the topic, as much as it pains me, there’s another question I’d like answered first.” He leans forward, and his demeanor, intent and calculated, suddenly reminds me of a predator ready to strike. “The Guard has eyes in Prairie. Did you receive no warning of this?”

Mustache and Baldy turn towards me as well, like dogs presented with a particularly juicy steak. Perhaps they think they have the power in this room, as generals of a sovereign nation and not a rebel group, but I refuse to let that faze me. Radis’s question was lazy; an easy attack from him, an easy riposte for me. 

“None, regrettably,” I return. My network has several solitary agents tracking raider camps in the plains, but there are far too many of them and not enough of us. Radis opens his mouth again, but I forestall him. No Silver politician will question my competence and go unchallenged. “I assure you, Representative, that the Guard is ever-vigilant. And if Magelen has more information on this particular group, I will dispatch agents to track down the rest of them immediately.”

“I was simply covering our bases, General. The implication that your spies were incompetent was unintended.” Radis inclines his head to me, ever graceful, and I feel a grudging respect towards him. Rarely do men in power admit to their own shortcomings. 

“No need for a mission,” Magelen says to me. “The entire sect participated in the Estate attack and, as it were, is now entirely neutralized. Tragic for them.” She shrugs slightly.

I smile for the first time today. “Excellent.” My forces are spread thin enough as it is, Prairie being the continent’s largest country by area. We’ve also never mounted a direct offensive in Prairie, since it is a neutral nation. 

“Thank you for the offer, Huntress,” Davidson says. “But missions aside, does anyone have ideas for preventative measures?”

Palace glances at me. We didn’t have time to discuss the Guard’s official position on this beforehand, but I trust the two of us to work in tandem, so I shrug, letting her speak. “Perhaps this is an unpopular opinion, but an increase in security seems in order,” she says. “The raiders directly responsible are dead, and Far—Huntress can hardly keep track of every Silver in the plains. But should another raid occur, more manpower would save lives.” 

“Strengthen border patrol. My people will be more than glad to fill shifts, while the war in the east lulls,” I say. Mustache bristles, presumably because I’ve somehow stepped into his domain, but Baldy seems to be listening. “Prairie will make an official alliance soon, and we’ll know for sure. If the Guard can do anything else, contact me.” I make sure to make eye contact with Davidson only: I’ll be damned if the Montfort military brass think they can order me around. “I’m already relaying all relevant information, per the coalition agreement, but perhaps we can work something out.” I lay extra stress on perhaps . We cannot promise too much in any negotiation, or ally too closely with any nation. Survival is still the Guard’s primary goal.

“Of course.” Davidson makes a note in his files. “Anything else?”

“Yes.” Palace’s expression could level a mountain. “One last thing, gentlemen. The best preventative measure, above all, is to win this damn war.” She pushes her chair back, indicating an end to the meeting. I follow suit. We have the information we need, and the rest of Command has to know. “Good day to all.” 

*

The sunlight in the gardens is disorienting. I’ve never been good at all-nighters, despite the enormous number I’ve pulled in the last few years. As I stand on the threshold peering outside like some kind of bat, I hear Clara laugh, bright and high and clear. Then she shrieks as she spots me and toddles over, golden curls bouncing, something clenched in her fist. An enormous weight lifts off my chest. My daughter is not only alive, she’s thriving. 

“What are you holding?” Rich, earthy mulch crunches beneath my feet as I reach down to pick her up. I take a deep breath and press my cheek close to hers,  trying to leave the war meeting behind. Palace is sending a message to Swan in the Lakelands, and the news will travel from there. Here, I am no longer a general, but my daughter’s mother. 

“Flower!” Clara sticks her tongue out and shoves the rose at me. The thorns have been methodically sliced off, and I thank the skies for Samos’s knifework.

“Carmadon won’t be happy.” Speak of the devil. When I turn, Evangeline’s barely two paces away, shaking her head in a falsely disapproving way. “Lord knows the number of times he’s cried over his roses.”  

Clara lights up when she sees Evangeline and covers her eyes with one hand. “Peek-a-boo!”

“House Samos does not play peek-a-boo,” Evangeline says to her sternly. Then she puts both hands over her face and moves them quickly aside so that Clara bursts into a fit of giggles.

“Peek-a-boo!” she repeats. It’s her favorite game, so much so that she’ll play with inanimate objects. Shade has only encouraged her obsession with curtains. I smile at the thought of them both, taking in the brightness in her eyes and the roundness in her cheeks. At two years old, she looks happier than I ever imagined a child of mine being. Happiness used to feel like dreaming, almost-tangible but never real. But now that I’ve tasted it, I feel like it’s just one more thing to lose.

“She’s okay?” I ask Evangeline. “You’re okay?” 

“I have a hell of a hangover, but she’s fine. Physically, at least.” She glances over at Clara, who tries to grab one of her fingers. Now that the euphoria of seeing my daughter has faded, the reality of last night sinks in. Clara, crying for both me and Shade. Evangeline, begging to take her from me. Evangeline, leaping between me and a raider. Evangeline, telling me to look after Shade. Evangeline, saving my family last night. 

I hated her once, but rightly or wrongly, I can’t bring myself to now. “Thank you.” It comes out more a rasp than a statement. “You didn’t have to do any of that.” 

Her chin lifts slightly, then dips again. Automatic pride exchanged for hard-earned truth. “I… meant what I said, Farley. I would die to protect your daughter.” Evangeline’s gaze is fixed on her shoes—Evangeline, who could stare down royalty without batting an eyelid. 

I drop my gaze too, and my eyes land on Clara’s ankle, her baby-smooth skin spotted with blood. Heat rushes through my cheeks, because I wouldn’t have done the same for Evangeline. Fought for her, maybe. But begging to save her child, at the risk of my own life? Forget it. “I’ve been unfair,” I say finally. “I don’t know if you noticed–”

“I have.”

“I’m sorry.”

At this she looks up suddenly, silver hair falling over her shoulders. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Farley.” Her voice is soft, her words rushing as if suddenly freed from a dam. The silver ring on her finger quivers. “The things I’ve done, the shit I was complicit in? I don’t fucking deserve a second chance.”

For a moment I can only stare at her. I truly have been unfair in my assumptions about her; she’s not just another unrepentant Silver trying to save her own skin. Somehow, Evangeline Samos became kinder than the world she was raised in allowed her to be. And while part of the past is her fault, much of it isn’t, so I choose my next words carefully. “It isn’t my place to forgive you on behalf of all Reds. You’re right—you’ve done a lot of terrible things. But I personally forgive you, Samos.” 

A little crease appears in her forehead. “Farley–”

“You nearly died for me last night,” I remind her. “You might not think you deserve a second chance, Evangeline, but you’ve been given one anyway. Make sure you use it.”

“I will.” She looks every inch a resolute soldier—shoulders set, spine straight. But soldier isn’t the word for it. No, Evangeline looks like herself again, a daughter who betrayed her father and a queen who threw away her crown for a chance at freedom. 

Clara, dozing against my shoulder, fusses suddenly, and I bounce her in my arms. “Thank you, again. For watching her,” I tell Evangeline, whose gaze softens when she looks at me and my daughter. 

“Anytime,” she says, one hand on her hip.  “And I do mean it. I’ll even skip patrol.” Her ever-present smirk has returned, but I don’t mind it as much as before. It feels endearing, like I’ve become part of some exclusive club.

I click my tongue in feigned disapproval. “This is not the sort of thing you run around telling generals, Corporal.” 

The smirk becomes a devilish grin, flashing even white teeth. One incisor is capped in platinum. “Oh, but you’re not my superior officer, Farley. You’re a friend.”

*

You’re a friend . I could count the times I’ve heard those words on one hand: from Ada Wallace, Mare Barrow, and Shade. And now, Evangeline. 

I won’t forget the desperation of last night as long as I live. Shade’s choked cry as a bullet struck him in the thigh, Clara’s scream as she clung to him—they ring in my ears, echoing down my spine. And suddenly, as I braced myself to die for my family in that dark ballroom, Evangeline leapt in front of me in a flash of silver hair. It doesn’t undo the centuries of oppression her people wrought, but the scales between the two of us balanced when she swore to protect Clara or die trying. 

Yes, I would consider Evangeline Samos a friend. 

“Did you like her?” I ask my daughter, who toddles alongside me on the gravel path. We’re heading home from the garden, down the mountainside to Shade. The morning sun is bright overhead, but the wind has a bite and I’m eager to get inside. “The woman you were playing with?”

“‘Angeline,” she says sagely, nodding her head. “She plays peek-a-boo.”

“That’s great.” 

We stop as Clara watches a butterfly alight on a lone dandelion in a patch of forlorn grass. She runs towards it, one hand outstretched, but then in a flutter of pale blue wings, it’s gone. “Come back!”

“You spooked it, that’s all,” I say, watching her stare in the direction it vanished. “Next time we’ll be more careful. Let’s go, now.”

“Di! Clare!” I whirl around at the sound of the voice, even though I already know who it is: Ada Wallace, one of two people in the world who are allowed to use my first name. A white collar peeks out from under her coat, and I gather she’s going to some kind of meeting at the Estate. 

“How’ve you been?” I hug her tight, even though she’s so short her chin digs into my shoulder when she’s on tiptoes.

“As tired as the rest, I suppose.” Ada shrugs in a self-deprecating way, but there’s a gleam in her dark eyes I recognize. In wartime, she can use her brain to its fullest extent, memorizing troop movements and treasury figures and making lightning-fast deductions about it all. “What about you?” she asks before I can say anything.

I hesitate, not knowing how much I can say about the raid. “I stayed up all night. I’m ready to go home and take a nap.” Ada frowns, trying to read between the lines. She’ll find out soon enough anyway. After all, if she’s headed up to the Estate, it no longer has a front gate.

She gives me one of those soft smiles that light up her face from the inside out. “Yes, get some rest. You deserve it. And, Clara, are you doing well?” She bends down and extends her hand, which my daughter takes with perfect solemnity and a firm “Yes!” Ada tends to talk to all children like adults, and surprisingly Clara responds in kind.

“Oh—one last thing, and then you can go home to sleep,” she says as she straightens up again. “I’m heading back to the States in a few weeks.”

“When will you be back?” 

“That’s the thing.” Ada takes a deep breath. “They’re doing elections for blood speakers. Like, representative positions in government for each blood type. I was thinking about running.”

It takes a moment for her words to sink in. “You’ll be resigning as ambassador?” I ask. “Moving back for good?” That takes bravery. Even if the Lakelands reformed today, if Queen Cenra broke her throne with her own hands, I would not go back. Ada, on the other hand, is returning to a land that slaughtered her people by the millions two short years ago in hopes that she can change it for the better. 

“I’ve talked to other newbloods.” Her expression is resolute, the usually soft lines of her face set in stone. “Those of us that aren’t already oathed to the Guard want nothing to do with the government. And Cal and Mare are in Montfort right now, forming more connections than I ever could. I’d do more good back home.” 

We’ve come miles from how we met, the scared servant with too many memories and the young captain with a chip on her shoulder. I clasp one of her hands in both of mine. “I’m so proud of you.”

“And I of you.” The quiet smile turns into a louder grin. “But also… you wouldn’t happen to know anyone looking for a house, would you?”

Chapter Text

Farley

Shade looks up the moment I burst through the door, Clara on my back giggle-screaming every time she jostles against me. “Something happen?” he asks, looking up from his book on the sofa. 

“You’re supposed to be sleeping.” I crouch to let Clara climb off. “You looked like you were about to lose a leg.” My gaze strays to his left thigh, propped serenely on the couch. It looks as if nothing happened.

“Skin healers can regrow hands.” His cheeks dimple, alleviating some of my anxiety. “I lost a lot of blood, but nothing they couldn’t handle. I was in and out of the infirmary in an hour.” He sets the book aside and looks me up and down. “You, on the other hand, were probably awake all night. And you seem like it too.” Shade takes Clara from me, buckling her into a high chair, and gestures at the couch. “Sit down, Di.” 

“Alright, alright.” I know better than to argue and try to force myself to relax as Shade rummages through the kitchen cabinets. “By the way, did you know Ada was moving back to the States?” 

“She’s what?” She looks up from shaking granola into a bowl. “What about her ambassador position?”

“She’s running for elected office. And she asked me if I knew what to do with her Montfort house.”

“Well, do you?” he asks, placing the bowl in front of Clara. He tosses me a wrapped sandwich, and I nearly miss it, fumbling to snatch it from the air. My sleep-deprived reflexes are determined to give me hell.

“Evangeline mentioned she was looking to move out of the premier’s estate. With her brother. And their respective partners.” I stifle a yawn. The wave of additional adrenaline is wearing off, and the cushions beneath me are warm with Shade’s body heat. 

“The Samos family.” His tone is less than friendly—there’s been no love lost between Shade and Ptolemus ever since the latter nearly skewered him at Corvium prison. “Are you going to tell them?”

“I think so,” I say through another yawn. He’ll know I have my reasons, and that in time I’ll explain them. “Tell you once—once Clara’s asleep.”

“One step ahead of you. C’mere, Clare-Bear.” My eyelids flutter, shut and then open again, but I smile as I catch a glimpse of Shade leading Clara upstairs to her room. Moments later his soft baritone drifts through the walls as he lulls her to sleep. 

About ten minutes later, by my internal clock, the stairs creak as he tiptoes back down, followed by a rustle of blankets. I blearily open my eyes as he lies down on the couch next to me. “This okay?”

“Yeah.” Our sofa is elephantine, nearly the size of a bed, fitted with a patchwork cover from Ruth and a veritable mountain of pillows. It can sleep the whole family comfortably and smells like the Barrow house, warm spices and something vaguely earthy. I roll over so that my body curls around his, and I drape an arm over his stomach.

“So,” he prompts. “You wanna sleep, or tell me what happened?”

At the mention of the past day’s events, all drowsiness flees my brain. “I’ll tell you.” I shift into a more comfortable position. “You saw Evangeline during the raid, right?” I swallow as I remember those heart-stopping minutes. I remember aiming my pistol carefully, pressed up against Shade’s back with Clara between us, picking targets until I ran out of bullets. I remember unsheathing my knives, watching half the premier’s shields collapse and cut us off from the Montfortans. I remember how my chest went hollow when I saw Shade’s blood on the floor, over his hands, and how my body went too numb to fight on. 

“Yeah, I recall.” His voice rumbles deep in his throat; my hand vibrates against his stomach. “She came out of nowhere. Took down two raiders in as many seconds. And then…”

You can’t come with me. You’re too young, he’d said before pushing our daughter away. But I can’t fault him for it, because moments later I’d done the same. “It’s okay,” I murmur, stroking circles along his stomach. His continued silence has a voice, and it tells me volumes. “You had to go.”

“I’m sorry for leaving you.” He rolls over, honeyed eyes brown in the dim light and brimming with guilt. “I shouldn’t have.”

I kiss his forehead. “It turned out fine. Evangeline… she saved us.” Shade’s arms come around me as I relay the frenetic final minutes of the fight in fragments. Give me Clara. Evangeline’s expression, as vulnerable as I’ve ever seen it—worlds away from the girl in steel ballgowns and iron restraint. Clara’s arms reaching for me as I turn away, unable to watch Samos take her away. 

“I barely even remember what happened after that.” There’s a stain on the front of his shirt, and my eyes sting and my lips taste like salt. His fingers trace careful lines down my back, ovals over my shoulder blades. “I think I killed another one, and then—and then somehow it was over.” I skim over the details of the interrogation and briefing, since they’re both confidential, and jump ahead to the rose garden. “I went down to the ballroom again. There was a trail of silverblood on the carpet, and I followed it to the gardens.” I take a shallow breath. “I just knew it wasn’t Clara’s. It was Samos,” I whisper. “And it’s selfish, but… I was glad.”

My husband tips his head so it rests on my shoulder. “You’re not selfish for wishing our daughter alive. I’m glad she’s alive, for the record. And you.”

“I would hope so.” I smile despite myself and hold him a little tighter. “I’m glad we’re all alive.” We both know war, having met on a battlefield. We both know that death is arbitrary and life even more so. But today, that thought doesn’t depress me, because being alive now is a victory. Being here, in my husband’s arms, with our daughter sleeping upstairs, is the only thing I could ever ask for.

“You know you have to tell her about the house now,” Shade murmurs, his breath tickling my hair. 

“I will. Tomorrow.” For now, I’m content to let the massive sofa swallow me whole. For now, I’m able to simply fall asleep. 

*

“This isn’t a joke.” Evangeline’s eyes burn into mine, smoldering like charcoal. “You know someone—you’ve found...” Her voice, already a hiss, trails off completely as passing soldiers stop to stare. After all, Samos is still a well-known, if controversial, figure, and the Guard’s put my face on every operation for the last two years. We’re standing in the middle of the Trapezoid, Ascendant’s primary military base, named for its enormous grassy field cut like a regulation buzz. Barracks and officers’ quarters line the green, and both Guard and Montfort colors fly from the flagpole in its center. Normally I would have chosen to talk somewhere discreet, but this conversation couldn’t wait. 

“I’ve found a house for you,” I confirm.

“I could kiss you,” she says, but instead she leans forward and embraces me in a very uncharacteristic move. Her pressed uniform smells like fresh laundry. 

“It’s the least I could do.” I hold on a second longer than usual. First hugs are something special.

“When can we talk to Ada?” Eve asks as she finally pulls away.

I glance down at my printed schedule by reflex, though I know it by heart. Drills, meetings, and paperwork until sunset. “What about tomorrow morning, at the house? I’ll have Shade tell you the address—I forgot it,” I add sheepishly. 

The smile she gives me is neither pearly-white nor predatory, but genuine: the corners of her eyes actually crinkle. “That’s perfect. See you then, General.”

“Stop calling me that!” I call after her retreating back, and in return, she flips her sheet of platinum hair behind her shoulder.

Swan’s connection from the Lakelands is shaky today. Static crackles through her already gravelly voice as she says, “They’re denying all involvement, of course.”

“No other option,” I agree. “The Cygnets will avoid antagonizing us until the last moment, but all the while, they’ll scheme behind our backs.” We remember the Nortan civil war all too well, when Iris’s betrothal took even Command by surprise.

“Troops leave the Citadel of the Lakes every day,” she says. “The Citadel of the Snows in the north is all but empty. They’re concentrating their forces along the Ohius River.”

“Ready to attack Norta, then.” Palace furrows her brow. “Unless they’re trying to trick us.”

“I think they’d be stupid to not attack the States as they rebuild. We all know it’s coming, but not for a while, I think.” Swan’s voice drops. “It’s not public knowledge yet, but Cenra is unwell again.” No surprise there. Between her husband’s assassination last year, her daughter’s wrecked marriage, Red unrest, and a second war, any queen would be struggling.

“So that isn’t our concern,” I say. “What it does tell us is that their focus probably isn’t on Prairie or Montfort. Which corroborates the claim that Tuesday’s raid was a sect of extremists, not an escalation.”

Palace cuts in, “Updates on that. Davidson’s put all prisoners to death. Lethal injection, with minimum required witnesses at the execution.” I nod, some of my unease from the interrogation vanishing. Yes, Montfort has its political schemes and power grabs. But on its current path, it will never witness a Bowl of Bones or a Drowning of the Northlands. 

“What’s your plan moving forward, Huntress?” Drummer asks. I check my notes and remember he’s stationed in Norta right now, trying to prod reconstruction in the right direction. A job I would have taken, if not for my impatience with politics. 

“No new missions into Prairie,” I say. “I’ve forwarded orders to Captain Warren to expand his network and report back more frequently. We have eyes on the Lakeland embassy. But as we’ve said, there’s no sign of escalation, so I see no need for escalation.” This last sentence comes out with an edge, but my decision goes unchallenged, even though I know from Palace that it was a controversial one.

“Montfort is increasing patrols on the Prairie border,” Palace adds. “Just in case.”

“The attack was an anomaly,” I say firmly. “To be clear, we’re safe. But it’s good to know that when war comes knocking, Montfort will be ready.” 

“Excellent, you two.” More crackling, probably as Swan shifts position. She’s probably holed up in a servants’ passageway somewhere. “I may have to go soon—my captains are due back from a disruption raid. Feels like the good old days.” Drummer snorts explosively, and Palace glances over at me, eyebrows raised.

“The good old days,” she repeats, but for all her cynicism, I detect a note of wistfulness in her voice. The old days: when every mission meant an adrenaline rush, when every Red freed felt monumental, and when the new dawn of revolution loomed on the horizon. When I met Shade on the Nortan border, and it felt like my own new dawn. These days, I sit in the barracks and sift through mountains of paperwork—but we have a home here and a daughter together. Our sun has long risen. 

“So much has changed.” Palace follows my train of thought. “And yet, at the same time, nothing has.” 

Drummer voices his agreement. “We turned the tide in Norta. Now, we play the same game all over again. Until no country upholds the old systems of oppression.” He’s right. This short interlude with Prairie may have ended, but a second war is inevitable. And the Scarlet Guard will be ready for it. 

My smile curves like the edge of a saber. “Rise, Red as the dawn.”

*

Evangeline

Ada’s house is quaint but not small, situated halfway up the mountains between the government complexes and Ascendant proper. Elane’s hand is in mine as we see it for the first time. Two stories high, the brick walls boast timber accents, a large maple stands in the front yard, and a gravel footpath meanders its way beneath our feet to the front door. 

“It’s not much, I’m afraid, and there’s no transport access.” Ada breaks the near-reverent silence. “I tend to walk everywhere I can.”

“Walking’s great for your health,” Wren says from my other side. Her eyes gleam appreciatively as she looks the house up and down, no doubt wondering how many fibrous leafy vegetables she can grow in the front garden. 

“And we can renovate whenever we want,” adds Elane. Tolly and I are both magnetrons, after all, and all four of us are sitting on piles of money as the heirs to our houses. Even after redistributing most of it to refugee funds and Reds in the Rift region, it’s an embarrassing amount. We’ll have to do something else with it. 

“Let’s go inside.” Farley nudges me with an elbow to the ribs, looking far too pleased with herself for having set this meeting up. I elbow her back and follow Ada through the front door. 

It opens into a sitting room, with a blackened stone fireplace taking up the far wall. My heart leaps at the thought of sitting in a circle on the dingy carpet, perhaps reading Little Women or playing cards. That is what I want, for the rest of my life. I’m certain of it. Elane glances over at me, as if reading my mind, and squeezes my hand. Her eyes tell me more than words could ever express.

The wallpaper in the kitchen is a disgusting mustard yellow, but Tolly nods in appreciation at the steel appliances, turning the stove on to a hiss of blue fire. The two bedrooms are cozy, the bathrooms slightly moldy, but I can overlook all of it. In fact, we came prepared to overlook anything short of a windowless dirt hut—that’s how tight the housing market is, what with the influx of immigrants from the east.

 “It’s not much,” Ada says apologetically, “especially with four of you, and…” She trails off, but I’m certain she was about to remark on our former royal status. Her whole house could fit in my lord father’s reception hall, but it isn’t marked with the ghosts of Ridge House and built on Red bones. It isn’t a steel cage disguised as a gleaming palace. It is entirely ours, and that’s more than I ever dared to ask for. 

“It’s perfect,” Elane says firmly. “Thank you so much, Ada.”

We reach the backyard, five acres of sprawling hills and shadowed forests, snow mottling the ground underfoot. How far away I feel from my old life, and how free. I breathe in the scent of pine and feel, as a tremor in my bones, that I am finally home.