“Fun, right?” he says, powering down the cycle. My legs and back are already sore from the strange, small seat, but he hops off with an extra spring in his step.
With some difficulty, I slide off as well. My knees wobble a bit, more from the pounding heartbeat still thrumming in my ears, but I think I’m okay.
“It won’t be my first choice in transportation.”
“Remind me to take you up in an airjet sometime. You’ll stick to cycles after that,” he replies as he rolls the cycle off the road, into the cover of the woods. After throwing a few leafy branches over it, he stands back to admire his handiwork. If I didn’t know exactly where to look, I wouldn’t notice the cycle was there at all.
“You do this a lot, I see.”
Cal turns back to me, one hand in his pocket. “Palaces can get . . . stuffy.”
“And crowded bars, Red bars, aren’t?” I ask, pushing the topic. But he starts walking toward the village, setting a fast pace like he can outrun the question.
“I don’t go out to drink, Mare.”
“So what, you just catch pickpockets and hand out jobs willy-nilly?”
When he stops short and whirls around, I knock into his chest, feeling for a moment the solid weight behind his frame. Then I realize he’s laughing deeply.
“Did you just say willy-nilly?” he says between chuckles.
My face blushes red beneath my makeup and I give him a little shove. Very inappropriate, my mind chides. “Just answer the question.”
His smile remains, though the laughter fades away. “I don’t do this for myself,” he says. “You have to understand, Mare. I don’t—I’m going to be king one day. I don’t have the luxury of being selfish.”
“I’d think the king would be the only person with that luxury.”
He shakes his head, his eyes forlorn as they run over me. “I wish that were true.”
Cal’s fist clenches open and closed, and I can almost see the flames on his skin, hot and rising with his anger. But it passes, leaving only an ember of regret in his eyes. When he finally starts walking again, it’s at a more forgiving pace.
“A king should know his people. That’s why I sneak out,” he murmurs. “I do it in the capital too, and at the war front. I like to see how things really are in the kingdom, instead of being told by advisers and diplomats. That’s what a good king would do.”
He acts like he should be ashamed for wanting to be a good leader. Maybe, in the eyes of his father and all those other fools, that’s the way it should be. Strength and power are the words Cal has been raised to know. Not goodness. Not kindness. Not empathy or bravery or equality or anything else that a ruler should strive for.
“And what do you see, Cal?” I ask, gesturing toward the village coming into view between the trees. My heart jumps in my chest, knowing I’m so close.
“I see a world on the edge of a blade. Without balance, it will fall,” he sighs, knowing it’s not the answer I want to hear. “You don’t know how precarious things are, how close this world is to falling back into ruin. My father does everything he can to keep us all safe, and so will I.”
“My world is already in ruin,” I say, kicking at the dirt road beneath us. All around us, the trees seem to open, revealing the muddy place I call home. Compared to the Hall, it must look like a slum, like a hell. Why can’t he see that? “Your father keeps your people safe, not mine.”
“Changing the world has costs, Mare,” he says. “Many would die, Reds most of all. And in the end, there wouldn’t be victory, not for you. You don’t know the bigger picture.”
“So tell me.” I bristle, hating his words. “Show me the bigger picture.”
“The Lakelands, they’re like us, a monarchy, nobles, a Silver elite to rule the rest. And the Piedmont princes, our own allies, would never back a nation where Reds are equal. Prairie and Tiraxes are the same. Even if Norta changed, the rest of the continent would not let it last. We would be invaded, divided, torn apart. More war, more death.”
I remember Julian’s map, the breadth of the greater world beyond our country. All controlled by Silvers with nowhere for us to turn. “What if you’re wrong? What if Norta is the beginning? The change the others need? You don’t know where freedom leads.”
Cal has no answer for that and we fall into bitter silence. “This is it,” I mutter, stopping under the familiar outline of my house.
My feet are silent on the porch, a far cry from Cal’s heavy, stomping steps that make the wood beams creak. His familiar heat rolls off him, and for a split second I imagine him sending the house up in flames. He senses my unease and puts a warm hand on my shoulder, but that does nothing to settle me.
“I can wait below if you want,” he whispers, taking me by surprise. “We don’t want to chance them recognizing me.”
“They won’t. Even though my brothers served, they probably wouldn’t know you from a bedpost.” Shade would, I thought, but Shade is smart enough to keep his mouth shut. “Besides, you said you want to know what’s not worth fighting for.”
With that I pull open the door, stepping through to the home that is no longer my own. It feels like taking a step back in time.
The house ripples with a chorus of snores, not just from my father, but the lumpy shape in the sitting area. Bree slumps in the overstuffed chair, a pile of muscle and thin blankets. His dark hair is still closely shaved in the army style and there are scars on his arms and face, testaments to his time fighting. He must’ve lost a bet with Tramy, who tosses and turns up in my cot. Shade is nowhere to be seen, but he’s never been one for sleep. Probably out prowling the village, looking up old girlfriends.
“Rise and shine.” I laugh, ripping the blanket off Bree in a smooth motion.
He crashes to the floor, probably hurting the floor more than himself, and rolls to a stop at my feet. For half a second, it looks like he might fall back asleep.
Then he blinks at me, bleary-eyed and confused. In short, his usual self. “Mare?”
“Shut your face, Bree, people are trying to sleep!” Tramy groans in the dark.
“ALL OF YOU, QUIET!” Dad roars from his bedroom, making us all jump.
I never realized how much I missed this. Bree blinks the sleep from his eyes and hugs me to him, laughing deep in his chest. A nearby thunk announces Tramy as he jumps from the upper loft, landing beside us on nimble feet.
“It’s Mare!” he shouts, pulling me up from the floor and into his arms. He’s thinner than Bree, but not the weedy string bean I remember. There are hard knots of muscle under my hands; the last few years have not been easy for him.
“Good to see you, Tramy,” I breathe against him, feeling like I might burst.
The bedroom door bangs open, revealing Mom in a tattered bathrobe. She opens her mouth to scold the boys, but the sight of me kills her words. Instead, she smiles and claps her hands together. “Oh, you’ve finally come to visit!”
Dad follows her, wheezing and wheeling his chair into the main room. Gisa is the last to wake up, but she only pokes her head out over the loft ledge, looking down.
Tramy finally lets me go, putting me back down next to Cal, who’s doing a wonderful job looking awkward and out of place.