“Magnetron, yes,” he says with a waggle of his fingers. “And in case you were wondering, the girl you nearly fried is a cousin.”
I almost choke on the air in my lungs, not knowing how to respond. “I’m sorry.” It sounds like a question.
“Be sorry you missed her,” he replies without a hint of jest. “Evangeline is a bitch.”
“Family trait?” My mouth moves faster than my brain and I gasp, realizing what I’ve just said.
He doesn’t strike me for speaking out of turn, though he has every right to. Instead the officer’s face twitches into the shadow of a smile. “I guess you’ll find out,” he says, black eyes soft. “I’m Lucas Samos. Follow me.”
I don’t have to ask to know I have no other choice in the matter.
He leads me out of my cell and up a winding stair, to no less than twelve Security officers. Without a word, they surround me in a well-practiced formation and force me along with them. Lucas stays by me, marching in time with the others. They keep their guns in hand, as if ready for battle. Something tells me the men aren’t here to defend me but to protect everyone else.
When we reach the more beautiful upper levels, the glass walls are strangely black. Tinted, I tell myself, remembering what Gisa said about the Hall of the Sun. The diamondglass can darken on command to hide what shouldn’t be seen. Obviously, I must fall into that category.
With a jolt I realize that the windows change not because of some mechanism but a red-haired officer. She waves a hand at every wall we pass, and some power within her blocks out the light, clouding the glass with thin shade.
“She’s a shadow, a bender of light,” Lucas whispers, noting my awe.
The cameras are here as well. My skin crawls, feeling their electric gaze running over my bones. Normally my head would ache under the weight of so much electricity, but the pain never comes. Something in the shield has changed me. Or maybe it released something, revealing a part of myself locked away for so long. What am I? echoes in my head again, more threatening than before.
Only when we pass through a monstrous set of doors does the electric sensation pass. The eyes cannot see me here. The chamber inside could encompass my house ten times, stilts and all. And directly across from me, his fiery gaze burning into mine, is the king sitting on a diamondglass throne carved into an inferno. Behind him, a window full of daylight quickly fades to black. It might be the last glimpse of the sun I’ll ever see.
Lucas and the other officers march me forward, but they don’t stay long. With nothing but a backward glance, Lucas leads the others out.
The king sits before me, the queen standing on his left, the princes on his right. I refuse to look at Cal, but I know he must be gawking at me. I keep my gaze on my new boots, focusing on my toes so I don’t give over to the fear turning my body to lead.
“You will kneel,” the queen murmurs, her voice soft as velvet.
I should kneel, but my pride won’t let me. Even here, in front of Silvers, in front of the king, my knees do not bend. “I will not,” I say, finding the strength to look up.
“Do you enjoy your cell, girl?” Tiberias says, his kingly voice filling the room. The threat in his words is plain as day, but still I stand. He cocks his head, staring at me like I’m an experiment to puzzle over.
“What do you want with me?” I manage to force out.
The queen leans down next to him. “I told you, she’s Red through and through—” But the king waves her off like he would a fly. She purses her lips and draws back, hands clasped tightly together. Serves her right.
“What I want concerning you is impossible,” Tiberias snaps. His glare smolders, like he’s trying to burn me up.
I remember the queen’s words. “Well, I’m not sorry you can’t kill me.”
The king chuckles. “They didn’t say you were quick.”
Relief floods through me like a cool wind through trees. Death does not wait for me here. Not yet.
The king throws down a stack of papers, all of them covered in writing. The top sheet has the usual information, including my name, birth date, parents, and the little brown smear that is my blood. My picture is there too, the one on my identification card. I stare down at myself, into bored eyes sick of waiting in line to have my picture taken. How I wish I could jump into the photo, into the girl whose only problems were conscription and a hungry belly.
“Mare Molly Barrow, born November seventeenth, 302 of the New Era, to Daniel and Ruth Barrow,” Tiberias recites from memory, laying my life bare. “You have no occupation and are scheduled for conscription on your next birthday. You attend school sparingly, your academic test scores are low, and you have a list of offenses that would land you in prison in most cities. Thievery, smuggling, resisting arrest, to name but a few. All together you are poor, rude, immoral, unintelligent, impoverished, bitter, stubborn, and a blight upon your village and my kingdom.”
The shock of his blunt words takes a moment to sink in, but when it does, I don’t argue. He’s entirely right.
“And yet,” he continues, rising to his feet. This close, I can see his crown is deathly sharp. The points can kill. “You are also something else. Something I cannot fathom. You are Red and Silver both, a peculiarity with deadly consequences you cannot understand. So what am I to do with you?”
Is he asking me? “You could let me go. I wouldn’t say a word.”
The queen’s sharp laughter cuts me off. “And what about the High Houses? Will they keep silent as well? Will they forget the little lightning girl in a red uniform?”
No. No one will.
“You know my advice, Tiberias,” the queen adds, her eyes on the king. “And it will solve both our problems.”
It must be bad advice, bad for me, because Cal clenches a fist. The movement draws my eye and I finally look at him fully. He remains still, stoic and quiet, as I’m sure he’s been trained to do, but fire burns behind his eyes. For a moment, he meets my gaze but I look away before I can call out and ask him to save me.
“Yes, Elara,” the king says, nodding at his wife. “We cannot kill you, Mare Barrow.” Not yet hangs in the air. “So we are going to hide you in plain sight where we can watch you, protect you, and attempt to understand you.”
The way his eyes gleam makes me feel like a meal about to be devoured.
“Father!” the word bursts from Cal, but his brother—the paler, leaner prince—grabs him by the arm, holding him back from protesting further. He has a calming effect and Cal steps back in line.
Tiberias goes on, ignoring his son. “You are no longer Mare Barrow, a Red daughter of the Stilts.”
“Then who am I?” I ask, my voice shaking with dread, thinking of all the awful things they can do to me.
“Your father was Ethan Titanos, general of the Iron Legion, killed when you were an infant. A soldier, a Red man, took you for his own and raised you in the dirt, never telling you your true parentage. You grew up believing you were nothing, and now, thanks to chance, you are made whole again. You are Silver, a lady of a lost High House, a noble with great power, and one day, a princess of Norta.”
Try as I might, I can’t hold back a surprised yelp. “A Silver—a princess?”