It takes me a while to watch the footage. I barely have the strength to look at it, the cautious steps and falls to the floor. Yet once I do, I can’t look away. Her dress is gorgeous, but she still balks, head in her hands as no one reaches to comfort her. For a moment, she laughs.
For another, she cries.
I yank myself away, scowling. She should be grateful I’m not killing them, that I have spun safety out of what should have been certain death. Yet even I know this is no mercy. That they are exceptions to a broader rule.
Good, Mother hisses. You’ve lost your sense enough as it is.
I pull back. She’s still here, even after all I’ve done, or perhaps because of it. My eyes flutter shut, searching for safety where there is none to be found. I have made my bed, and now I must lie in it.
Mother has no time for my musings. Make use of her already.
I rise, nearly knocking the chair in my wake. It’s time to face her, my inconvenient truth, and let the cards fall as they may. Even if they land in a puddle at my feet.
Her room is not as punishing as Mother would like, but remains a cage, metal bars of satin and silk. I catch her gown balled in a corner, frowning. She’ll put it on eventually. Until then, I’ll coax her, threaten her, do everything I can to ensure her place and mine. My lips part.
She ignores me, panting, struggling through what can only be described as a toddler’s attempt at sit-ups. I take a step closer, and her fist clenches. Lightning has no mercy.
And neither does silent stone.
“Good to know they got the balance right.” I sit down, leather-gloved hands feathering over each other. They won’t come off, no matter how I tug. I settle for using my teeth.
Mare sneers. “Oh yes, these bracelets are just lovely.” Her eyes catch me with my teeth on the leather. Heat rises to my cheeks, but she doesn’t seem to care, waving a heavy hand my direction. Snow falls from my hair as I finish the job, trying not to pretend the gloves are her skin.
I exhale. “I’ll give Evangeline your compliments.”
Mare halts, chest heaving on the floor. “Of course she made them.” She stares at the ceiling instead of me. “Surprised she has the time, though. She must be spending every second making crowns and tiaras to wear. Dresses too. I bet you cut yourself every time you have to hold her hand.”
I bite my cheek to dull my revulsion. Evangeline has her strings, same as I do, ones I know will never be cut. Not even if Volo dies in his sleep.
She sits upright. “Have you set a date?”
My brow furrows. “What?”
Mare cocks her head, a kitten with a toy mouse. “I doubt doing a royal wedding is something you can do on short notice. I assume you know exactly when you’re marrying Samos.”
“Oh, that.” For a moment, I wonder if she’s jealous. A moment that dies as I wave a hand. “Planning the wedding is her business.”
She stares at me. “If it were her business, she’d have been queen months ago.” Sharp words, yet they don’t shake me. “You don’t want to marry her.”
I chuckle instead of crawling inside her skin, instead of cupping her cheeks and begging for all that she can give. A foolish thought, even if she loved me. A foolish thought, even if I loved her. “That’s not why Silvers get married, as well you know.”
She does. However much Mother sneers at her, she does grasp this court, the cage I was raised in and born to conquer. Something like pity tugs her lips. “Well, I don't blame you for stalling–”
“It isn’t stalling to postpone a wedding in wartime.”
Mare shakes her head. “She’s not who you would’ve chosen–”
I almost scoff. “As if that has anything to do with it.”
“Not to mention the fact that she was Cal’s before she was yours.”
The blow hits despite me, and I find myself reaching for the flamemakers at my wrists. Any other time, I would be wary of giving her a spark. Now, it is only a taunt. “Based on your progress, it should take another day or so for you to learn how to walk properly with those.” Bored. I must be bored, unloving and unlovable lest she use me for her own ends. “And then you’ll finally be of some use to me.”
Her head shakes, wild, eyes darting every which way. “Do you spend all day spying on me, or does a Security officer give you a summary? Some kind of written report?”
My eyes flash with the footage, and it takes all I have not to let it show. “Tomorrow you will stand up and say exactly what I tell you to.”
“Or what?” Mare lurches to her feet, and I can’t stop staring. Can’t stop tracing every inch of her to store for later. “I’m already your prisoner. You can kill me whenever you want to. And quite frankly, I’d prefer that to luring Newbloods in your net to die.”
“I’m not going to kill you, Mare.” I keep my voice steady, a parent teaching a child. “And I don’t want to kill them, either.”
She stares at me, heaving. “Why?”
I don’t smile, even if I want to. Even if my triumph is better than her affection. “I know you’ll never fight for us, Mare. But your kind . . . they’re strong, stronger than many Silvers could ever be. Imagine what we will do with an army of them, combined with an army of mine. When they hear your voice, they’ll come.” Her face contorts, and I hum. “How they are treated once they arrive depends on your behavior, of course. And your compliance.” I stand, vividly aware of how I tower over her. “So I have two choices, and you get to pick which one I follow. Either you bring me newbloods, and they join with us, or I continue finding them on my own, and killing them.”
Her slap lands, weak, a kitten pawing at its display window. Another hand pounds at my chest. “How can you still be like this? She’s dead. I killed her.” Fried hair and singed flesh sear my vision. “You are free from her. You–you shouldn’t be her son anymore.”
Anger rushes through me, thick and violent, manifesting in my fingers around her jaw. Mother roars to life, hissing, clawing, raging for me to end her this instant. For my flames to engulf her as they were always meant to. But all I do is watch her cry, bare to her blood, my soul shattering with each lonely tear. “I am what she made me,” I whisper.
It’s the truest thing I’ve ever said to her. She seems to know it, falling to a knee when I release my grip. I expect her to speak.
I get no answer.
