Mare POV
I don't return to the palace.
I don't return to the palace but I can see Tiberias's plans set into motion nonetheless. Silvers – common and noble – are paraded into the administrative sector and the residence, in trickles but still in a showy manner. Arrested in all but name. Apparently, Tiberias is successful, and this is what he transmits in the meetings I attend and the Guard officers I trust tell me the same.
Julian takes part too. He halves his time between research and advising his nephew, to my surprise. I thought he'd be a shadow minister like Samson was to Maven, one who gets involved in as much politics as possible. But Julian doesn't, and whenever he's with Tiberias, I see the dim flicker of disappointment in Julian's eyes, an emotion he's displayed for months. I don't witness him calling out his nephew but I'm sure he does, if only in private.
Even though Tiberias doubted the cooperation would work, Farley and her officers don't let themselves be excluded and demand their places in the proceedings. Ada is especially committed, originating from Harbor Bay herself. She presides in interrogations and the trials that follow and she's glorious to watch. The witnesses and accused quiver before the confidence of her infallible mind. Their testimonies aren't nearly as poised as they contradict themselves sooner or later. At first, Ada relies on the evidence brought before her, but her memory leads much more back – she's seen more things than were written down in the last weeks, she's been a witness of Harbor Bay's upper class and their wrongdoings her whole life and now she can finally speak up.
Unlike Ada, I begin to grin vindictively at more than one occasion. Farley does too, and I thinks it's the first time I see her smile at someone else but Clara.
Of course, the reorganization and investigations take time, weeks that soon become months. It's not what Cameron came here for, and she says so.
"We need to communicate with our Montfort allies in Archeon either way," Farley answers her. "That and provisions. You can jump on that train, Cameron, and go to our civilian base. I won't break my offer to unite you with your brother."
Cameron grins. "You better not disappoint."
Kilorn jabs me with his elbow. "What about us, Mare?" he asks. I merely shrug.
But my brother asks me the same thing later that day. "I want look after Gisa and Mom and Dad, before I escort our visitors from Archeon," Bree explains. "Don't you want to see them too?"
"I'm a soldier of the Scarlet Guard," I say. "My place is where I'm needed." I'm dissembling extremely, and stun Bree with my brusqueness. I soften my expression and smile at him. "Hey, I'll miss you," I say, go on my toes and hug him. His embrace sweeps me completely off my feet. Despite his size, Bree's always been the touchy one among us. Tramy is less emotional, cooler and more closed. But he doesn't go away either, I learn. He stays in Harbor Bay, with Lacey Ventos who helps Tiberias protect the population and who's the woman Tramy loves. They don't talk much about it, nor show it, yet some moments they share make their infatuation undeniable.
Lacey's burner ability is still needed. The assaults and fights became less frequent for some time after our arrival but that changed soon enough. The administrative sector continues to be the main target but now that there are enemies the insurgents can focus on personally. Farley gets shot with three bullets in her leg and it takes two hours before Sara can look at her, two hours filled with fatalistic jokes of Evangeline manufacturing her an artificial leg. Tiberias has to fend off more than one would-be assassin, one Red among them, and I can't even blame her.
That woman could've been the end of the cooperation, to be honest. She could've been me. It's strange enough to talk about rebels and insurgents when we're ones ourselves, when the assassin is as unable to accept another Calore as king as we are. So she remains in the palace's prison and I feel like a traitor.
"Announce that you won't become king," I tell Tiberias the night after her trial. "Do it and we'd half the problems we have now. Do it and I'll call you 'Cal' again."
Helplessly, he looks at me. "I won't be king, Mare," he whispers eventually. "You see it won't happen now. But to announce it, that would mean ...," he shrugs.
"I know!" I snap. "'The Silvers won't listen to me anymore'," I imitate him. I turn on my heel to leave but he touches my shoulder to hold me back. I groan.
"Please," I hear him say behind me.
I remain still, to bait him. "Whenever you say 'please', Tiberias, you don't seem regal at all," I say, stepping away from him to finally go into my bed.
When I prowl the streets, I meet fear and awe equally, as well as the unavoidable indifference of those just wanting to go on with their lives. Harbor Bay, like most Nortan cities, has been fed its share of propaganda in the last one and a half years. I can still see the remains of the old posters, some announcing the measures and the dangers of the Scarlet Guard, others celebrate Maven's ascension and offer rewards for finding me, the fugitive Lightning Girl and "her" traitorous prince.
Now those posters are rotting, more sludge than paper, and the Guard starts to pin up their own posters over them. They're rather plain, informative texts making offers to the inhabitants and promises for Norta's future. I wish the past was really as easy to change as the writings and posters on the wall, now dissolving from rain and the snow falling lately. But you can't paste over memories and scars.
The current announcements completely omit House Samos. No news come from the Rift, whether old or recent. The streets are devoid of their names, at least as far as I can tell. I don't know what's talked about behind closed doors, and the inhabitants of Harbor Bay aren't supposed to be aware of the metal princess dwelling in the belly of the residence. Does she still linger in a cell, depressed and missing her girlfriend along with the brother about whose demise she doesn't know?
I return to the town hall and don't find my friends in the building, but in the small garden between it and the residence.
"Careful!" Kilorn shouts. I take a step aside, unconsciously, and a snowball crashes against my neck.
I curse, realizing Kilorn's call was a ruse to distract me and make this hit. He cheers. "You asked for it, Warren!" I shout and shape my own snowball. He starts running, then throws a ball against Tramy. My brother is better prepared to dodge and the moment Kilorn's thrown, I let my own charge loose, hitting his arm.
I cheer.
"There's another player?" Farley asks, more than slightly annoyed. She kneels in the snow, a little away. "I mean, hi Mare, was your patrol successful?"
"Uneventful."
"However, would you please take care not to hit Clara?" she reminds us. She isn't involved in the snowball fight but building a snowman with Clara watching next to her. Only the baby isn't satisfied with watching as she crawls around despite the thick clothing her mother wrapped her into, intended to sabotage Farley's masterpiece to get her attention.
The scene distracts me from Kilorn's next attack; I dodge by falling down on my tailbone. The snow's cold and wets my clothing and despite the pain I have to laugh, relieved to find myself in this peaceful moment. Kilorn comes to help me up and Tramy goes back to Lacey, his girlfriend. She sits on the stairs of the town hall and I wonder whether she dislikes the cold or is afraid of melting the snow away. How was it for Tiberias last year? I never got to ask him that. Standing up, I glance around as if I could catch his sight. My eyes stray to the doors of the residence, now open with a person lingering there, someone with light hair.
I pull away from Kilorn, moving over to who has to be Evangeline. She shouldn't see this. She shouldn't be here at all. I wish she'd go back to her home.
"What a rare sight," I say to her.
She shrugs. "I told you I'm here on my own terms." Although her appearance doesn't match her confident words. Her hair's loose and still wavy from her usual braids and it's like she let down her shields, even more so as her baggy clothing lacks any vanity. Before, I thought about what a "pale" Silver would look like, when blood leaves their faces. They always seem bloodless, cold and bluish compared to Reds. Now I know. Evangeline's skin looks like it's filled with shadows, her light, Elane, gone.
"I wasn't sure you have a similar bargain with Tiberias," I say, shaking off my pity.
"That's why I'm here, Barrow. I need to talk to him." I was right. The princess is back and doesn't need commiseration. "Bring me to him," she demands.
"He wasn't in the residence?" I inquire.
She shrugs again. I do my best to obscure her view of the garden and think of the underground corridor connecting the residence and the town hall where Tiberias has an office. I tap on her arm to get her moving and fifty meters in, the panic I tried to ignore is back. I flinch and focus on the way ahead, looking only at my feet and the stairs to the underground corridor. It's better down there, once I know we left the palace itself.
Tiberias stands over his desk and greets us before he looks down again, clearing his throat for several seconds. When he raises his head, he avoids my sight with uncanny concentration. Maybe I should leave them alone. But he can tell me so himself.
Evangeline struggles with her words. "I thought I should offer my condolences," she says. "For your grandmother."
Tiberias raises his eyebrows. "Do you? I guess so. Indeed, we have things to talk about, and it's time to share our knowledge," he says, piqued and aloof. "I've been wondering, why was my grandmother murdered, Your Highness? Did you have your own political agenda, or did you believe her responsible for your brother's death?"
His question fills the room with silence. He realizes quickly what a mistake he made and his face falls, even before Evangeline can grasp what he said.
I'd like to undo the last seconds as well.
It takes her long to understand, to overcome her innate denial. Once she does, she has no words on her own but only the metal and her ability to speak for her.
The rooms heats uncomfortably as Tiberias calls on fire to keep her pins and needles, pens and nails turned into missiles, away from him and me, until I can send a mild shock at her, strong enough to knock her out.