“I know you,” I say, trying to place her face. “How do I know you?”
She doesn’t answer, turning her head over her shoulder to wait for one more person, a gray-haired man in plain clothing. But I barely notice him at all, distracted by his companion. Even without his house colors, dressed in simple grays instead of his usual faded gold, Julian is hard to miss. I feel a burst of warmth at the sight of my old teacher. Julian inclines his head, offering a small smile in greeting. He looks better than I’ve ever seen him, even when I first met him at the summer palace. Then he was worn, wearied by a court of enemies, haunted by a dead sister, a broken Sara Skonos, and his own doubt. Though his hair is now more gray than brown, his wrinkles deeper, he seems vibrant, alive, unburdened. Whole. The Scarlet Guard has given him purpose. And Sara too, I bet.
His presence soothes Cal even more than me. He relaxes a bit at my side, giving his uncle the slightest nod. Both of us see what this is, what kind of message Montfort is trying to send. They do not hate Silvers—and they do not fear them.
The other man shuts the door behind him as Julian takes a seat, firmly planting himself on our side of the table. Even though he’s six feet tall, he seems small without a uniform of his own. Instead, he wears civilian clothing. A simple buttoned shirt, pants, shoes. No weapons that I can see. He has red blood, that’s certain, judging by the pink undertones in his sandy skin. Newblood or Red, I don’t know. Everything about him is decidedly neutral, pleasantly average, and unassuming. He seems a blank page, either by nature or design. There’s nothing else to indicate who or what he might be.
But Farley knows. She moves to get to her feet, and he waves her down.
“No need for that, General,” he says. In a way, he reminds me of Julian. They have the same wild eyes, the only thing remarkable about him. His are angled, darting back and forth, taking in everything for observation and understanding. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you all,” he adds, nodding to each of us in turn. “Colonel, Miss Barrow, Your Highness.”
Under the table, Cal’s fingers twitch against his leg. No one calls him that anymore. Not people who mean it.
“And who are you, exactly?” the Colonel asks.
“Of course,” the man replies. “I’m sorry I could not come sooner. My name is Dane Davidson, sir. I serve as premier to the Free Republic of Montfort.”
Cal’s fingers twitch again.
“Thank you all for coming. I’ve wanted this meeting for some time now,” Davidson continues, “and I think that together, we can achieve magnificent things.”
This man is the leader of the entire country. He’s the one who asked for me, who wanted me to join him. Has he done all this to get his way? Like his general’s face, his name rings a distant bell.
“This is General Torkins.” Davidson gestures between them. “And General Salida.”
Salida. I don’t know her name. But now I’m certain I’ve seen her before.
The sturdily built general notes my confusion. “I did some reconnaissance, Miss Barrow. I presented myself to King Maven when he was interviewing Ardent—I mean newbloods. You may remember.” To demonstrate she sweeps her hand at the table. No, not at. Through. Like it’s made of nothing—or she is.
The memory snaps into focus. She displayed her abilities and was accepted into Maven’s “protection,” along with many other newbloods. One of them, in her fear, exposed Nanny to the entire court.
I stare at her. “You were there the day Nanny—the newblood who could change her face—died.”
Salida looks truly sorry. She dips her head. “If I had known, if I could have done something, truly I would have. But Montfort and the Scarlet Guard did not communicate openly, not then. We didn’t know all your operations, and they did not know ours.”
“No longer.” Davidson remains standing, his fists braced against the table. “The Scarlet Guard has need for secrecy, yes, but I’m afraid it will only do more harm than good from here onward. Too many moving parts not to get in each other’s way.”
Farley shifts in her seat. Either she wants to disagree or the chair is uncomfortable. But she holds her tongue, letting Davidson carry on.
“So, in the interest of transparency, I felt it best for Miss Barrow to detail her captivity, as much as she can, to all parties. And afterward, I will answer any and all questions you may have about myself, my country, and our road ahead.”
In Julian’s histories, there were records of rulers who were elected, rather than born. They earned their crowns with an array of attributes—some strength, some intelligence, some empty promises and intimidation. Davidson rules the so-called Free Republic, and his people chose him to lead. Based on what, I can’t say yet. He has a firm way of speaking, a natural conviction. And he’s obviously very smart. Not to mention he is the kind of man who gets more attractive with the years. I could easily see how people wanted him to rule.
“Miss Barrow, whenever you’re ready.”
To my surprise, the first hand to hold mine is not Cal’s, but Farley’s. She gives me a reassuring squeeze.
I start at the beginning. The only place I can think to start.
My voice breaks when I detail how I was forced to remember Shade. Farley lowers her eyes, her pain just as deep as mine. I soldier through, to Maven’s growing obsession, the boy king who twisted lies into weapons, using my face and his words to turn as many newbloods as possible against the Scarlet Guard. All the while his fraying edges becoming more apparent.