“She has a life of her own,” I muse airily, forcing a shrug. “I can’t expect her to live at my beck and call.”

“You spent all your time pretending not to pine for her, and now here you are, in the same place again. But you’re bothering me instead.” Shrewd, she turns her gaze on me for a second, her brown eyes black against the deepening night sky. Then she looks back at the stars. “What do you want to know?”

“Nothing at all. I don’t care where you and Cal scampered off to today, or why you both were so incredibly late to a meeting about the survival of your own people.”

At her side, the Red boy tenses, his brows knitting together.

Mare tries not to rise to the bait or the implication. She waves a hand, dismissive. “It wasn’t important.”

“Well, if you ever need assistance with your unimportant doings, there are a few passages I can show you. Ways to get around the Ridge unseen.” I tip my head, surveying her as she pretends not to listen to me. “Cal sleeps in the east wing, near my rooms, in case you’re interested.”

Her head snaps up. “I am not.”

“Of course,” I reply.

The Red boy glowers, his eyes a dark green, the color of my mother’s stormiest emeralds. “Is this what you call distraction? Taunting Mare?”

“Not at all. I was wondering if Mare felt like sparring a bit.”

She balks. “I beg your pardon?”

“For old time’s sake.”

She huffs, as if annoyed. But I see the familiar twitch in her. The need. A coil in the pit of her stomach, begging to be unwound. Barrow looks at her feet, blinking slowly. She runs one hand over the other, smoothing her fingers against her palm. Imagining the lightning, no doubt.

There is a particular pleasure in using our abilities for sport rather than survival.

“I’ve almost beaten you twice, Evangeline,” Mare says.

I grin. “Third time’s the charm.”

She glares up at me, annoyed at the hunger inside herself. “Fine,” she forces through gritted teeth. “One match.”

Cal is also in the training arena, not that Mare or Kilorn knows it, though. The Red boy follows us wordlessly, fuming, but he does nothing to stop Barrow when I lead her into the specially made chamber.

The walls are glass, much like the rest of the Ridge. In the morning, it enjoys a full view of the sunrise. Perfect for early sessions. Now it looks out on the darkness, a vague, bruising blue, fading to black. Ptolemus and Cal occupy different ends of the training floor, ignoring each other as men do. My brother steadily works through a rotation of push-ups, his back straight and lean. Wren perches nearby, seated in the raised viewing area. She must be the healer on duty, to attend to anyone on the floor. But her attention is firmly fixed on Ptolemus and his flexing muscles. I could probably spear Cal through the middle and she wouldn’t blink an eye.

The would-be king faces away from us at first, running a towel over his hair and his sweaty, flushed face. I watch Mare go stock-still next to me, as if frozen solid. Her eyes widen, running over his figure. I can only grimace, noting the damp material clinging to Cal’s back and shoulders. Maybe if I felt some attraction to him—or to any man, for that matter—I might understand exactly why Mare looks like she’s going to pass out.

At least this part of the plan is working. Barrow clearly has no objections to Cal’s body.

“This way,” I say to her, taking her by the arm.

Cal spins at my voice, towel still in hand. He startles at the sight of us. Well, the sight of her. “We’re almost finished,” he manages to sputter.

“Take your time. It doesn’t make a difference to me,” Mare replies, her voice and expression decidedly neutral. She lets me lead her away without protest, but her hand shifts, her arm moving quickly. Her fingers dig into my flesh, nails biting in warning.

“Kilorn,” I hear Cal say behind us, greeting the Red boy with what sounds like a handshake.

Ptolemus looks up from his spot on the floor, not breaking his pace. I give him the slightest nod, pleased by our machinations. His eyes slide past me, though, to rest on Mare instead.

She looks back at him, murderous. It chills my blood.

I try not to shudder. Try not to think of my brother bleeding like hers did, dying as he falls, dying for nothing at all.

Pull yourself together, Samos.

SIXTEEN

Mare

“I’m not an idiot, Evangeline,” I growl as the changing-room door slams behind us.

She just sighs, shoving a training suit into my chest. With practiced, even motions, she strips out of her simple gown and tosses it to the side, discarding the puddle of silk like a pile of trash. Naked but for her underclothes, she pours herself into a training suit of her own. Clearly custom-made for her, printed with a scaled design of black and silver.

Mine is less ornate. A simple navy blue. Furious with her scheming, I pull off my own clothes before forcing the suit on.

“You might as well just shove us into a closet and lock the door,” I snarl, watching her braid her silver hair away from her face. She does it quickly, without thought, forming a crown around her head.

Evangeline only twists her lips. “Trust me, I would if I thought that might work on you. Him, yes. A closet would be enough. But you?” She throws her hands wide, shrugging. “You can never make anything easy.”

“So, what, you’re going to try to beat the shit out of me and hope he feels some pang of sympathy? Maybe have him nurse me back to health?” I shake my head, disgusted.

“It seemed to be working in Montfort.” Her eyes paw over me. “Those Silences did a real number on you.”

My eyes narrow. “Well, I have my reasons,” I snap back, defensive. The memory is like a slap to the face, followed by a deep kick to the gut. I dig my nails into my palm, trying not to slide back into the sensation of being suffocated. In the mountain foothills, in a palace bedroom. From Silvers or from manacles. Without thinking, I circle my fingers around my wrist and squeeze. It almost makes me vomit onto the polished tile floor.

“I know,” she replies, softer than before. If she were anyone else, I might think that was concern shadowing her voice. But not Evangeline Samos. She doesn’t have the ability to feel sympathy toward Reds.

I cough, regaining some of my composure. “Even if you somehow did drive us back together, it wouldn’t accomplish anything. You said yourself, he’s not the abdicating kind. It’s a stupid plan, Evangeline,” I add, for both our sakes.

She looks at me sidelong, buckling a brace of daggers into place around her thigh. One side of her mouth lifts. I can’t decide if it’s a smirk or a smile. “We’ll see.”

All grace and agility, she crosses back to the door, gesturing for me to follow her out onto the waxed wood.

I do so reluctantly, pulling my hair back into a neat tail. Half of me hopes Tiberias is already gone. I focus my eyes on a spot between her shoulder blades.

“It’s a stupid plan, not just because Tiberias already made his choice,” I continue, sliding by her onto the training floor. Instinctively I shift my weight to the balls of my feet, almost bouncing as we walk. I grin back at her. “But also because you’re never going to lay a finger on me.”

She clutches a hand to her chest in false pain. The changing-room door slams shut behind her. “Mare, I’m supposed to be the overly confident one.”

I keep grinning, walking backward to keep my eyes on her. I don’t trust anyone to fight fair, especially her. “Maybe Elane can lick your wounds?”

Evangeline only raises her chin, looking down her nose at me. “She does, and frequently. Jealous?”

My face flares red. I feel the heat of it all down my neck. “No.”

Now it’s her turn to grin. She shoulders past me, knocking her arm into mine with marked force. I twist, but she keeps her body squared to me, never letting me pass out of her eye line. We start to resemble dance partners turning in a ballroom. Or wolves circling in the dark, predators testing each other. Searching for openings and weaknesses. Opportunities.

I have to admit, the prospect of blowing off some steam, and maybe getting a few good rounds in, has me excited. Adrenaline already surges through my veins in anticipation. A good fight, the kind without consequences or any real danger, sounds especially delicious. Even if it means admitting Evangeline was right about sparring.