She promised, I tell myself.
It sounds idiotic, the wish of a particularly foolish child. I should know better. The only bond in my world is blood; the only promise is family. A Silver would smile and agree with another house and break their oath in the next heartbeat. Mare Barrow is not Silver—she should have less honor than any of us. And she owes my brother, owes me, less than nothing. She would be justified in slaughtering us all. House Samos has not been kind to the lightning girl.
“We have a schedule, Evangeline,” Wren mutters next to me. She cradles one hand against her chest, doing her best not to antagonize an already-ugly burn. The skin healer wasn’t fast enough to avoid all of Mare’s returning ability. But she got the job done, and that’s all that matters. Now the lightning girl is free to wreak as much havoc as she can.
“I’m giving him another minute.”
The hallway seems to stretch before me, growing longer with every second. On this side of the palace, we can barely hear the battle in the Square. The windows look out on a still courtyard, with only dark storm clouds above. If I wanted to, I could pretend this was another day of my usual torment. Everyone smiling with their fangs, circling an increasingly lethal throne. I thought the end of the queen would mean the end of danger. It’s not like me to underestimate a person’s evils, but I certainly underestimated Maven. He has more of his mother in him than anyone realized, as well as his own kind of monster.
A monster I no longer have to suffer, thank my colors. Once we’re back home, I’ll send the Lakelander princess a gift for taking my place at his side.
He’ll be far away by now, ferried to safety by his train. The new bride and groom were already in the Treasury when I left them. Unless Maven’s disgusting obsession with Mare won out. The boy is impossible to predict where she is involved. For all I know, he could have turned around to find her. He could be dead. I certainly hope he is dead. It would make the next steps infinitely easier.
I know Mother and Father too well to worry about them. Woe to the person, Silver or Red, who might challenge my father in open combat. And Mother has her own contingencies in place. The attack on the wedding was not a surprise to any of us. House Samos is prepared. So long as Tolly sticks to the plan. My brother has a hard time backing down from a fight, and he is impulsive. Another man impossible to predict. We’re not supposed to hurt the rebels or impede their progress in any way. Father’s orders. I hope my brother follows them.
We’ll be fine. I exhale slowly, holding on to those three words. They do little to calm my nerves. I want to be rid of this place. I want to go home. I want to see Elane again. I want Tolly to strut around the corner, safe and whole.
Instead, he can barely walk.
“Ptolemus!” I bark, forgetting every fear but one as he rounds the corner.
His blood stands out sharply against black steel armor, silver spattered down his chest like paint. I can taste the iron in it, a sharp tang of metal. Without thinking, I yank on his armor, pulling him through the air with it. Before he can collapse, I brace my torso against his, keeping him on his feet. He’s almost too weak to stand, let alone run. Icy-cold terror trails fingers down my spine.
“You’re late,” I whisper, earning a pained grin. Still alive enough for a sense of humor.
Wren works swiftly, pulling off his plates of armor, but she’s not faster than me. With another jerk of my hand, it falls from his body in a few clattering echoes. My eyes fly to his bare chest, expecting to see an ugly wound. Nothing there but a few shallow cuts, none of them serious enough to level someone like Ptolemus.
“Blood loss,” Wren explains. The skin healer pushes my brother to his knees, holding his left arm aloft, and he whimpers from the pain of it. I keep steady at his shoulder, crouching with him. “I don’t have time to heal this.”
This. I trail my gaze along his arm, over white skin gray and black with fresh bruises. It ends in a bloody, blunt stump. His hand is gone. Cut clean through the wrist. Silver blood pulses sluggishly from the severed veins, despite his meager attempts to wrap the wound.
“You have to,” Ptolemus grinds out, his voice hoarse with agony.
I nod fervently. “Wren, it’ll only take a few minutes.” No magnetron is a stranger to a lost finger. We’ve been playing with knives since we could walk. We know how quickly a digit can be regrown.
“If he ever wants to use that hand again, you’ll do as I say,” she replies. “It’s too complicated to do quickly. I have to seal the wound for now.” He makes another strangled noise, choking on the thought and the pain.
“Wren!” I plead.
She doesn’t back down. “For now!” Her beautiful eyes, gray Skonos eyes, bore into mine with urgency. I see fear in her, and no wonder. A few minutes ago she watched me murder four guards and free a prisoner of the crown. She is also complicit in the treason of House Samos.
“Fine.” I squeeze Tolly’s shoulder, imploring him to listen. “For now. The second we’re in the clear, she’ll fix you.”
He doesn’t reply, only nodding as Wren gets to work. Tolly turns his head, unable to watch the skin grow over his wrist, sealing up the veins and bones. It happens quickly. Blue-black fingers dance across his pale flesh as she knits him together. Skin growth is easy, or so I’m told. Nerves, bones, those are more complex.
I do my best to distract him from the blunt end of his arm. “So who did it?”
“Another magnetron. Lakelander.” He forces out each word. “Saw me breaking off to leave. Sliced me before I knew what was happening.”