Red Ruse

Chapter Thirty Two

Evangeline

The wedding unfolds as Elara said it would, sneers and champagne glasses clinking through the chatter. If I could, I'd shatter each one, letting the shrieks rise as glass skids across the marble.

Instead, I glare.

The manacle cuts into my skin every time I move, all sharp edges and silver points. Maven requested it be painful, and the cousin who made it has certainly complied. Something in me wants to blame Gwendolyn. But the rest of me remembers her words in the dungeons.

Are you happy now?

Tears threaten my lids as I exhale, shaky. Elane visited me, when I was in my cell. When her hand stretched between the bars, feathering my own. We were too far to kiss. Too far to do anything but talk, her voice quivering with words too heavy to speak aloud.

The Haven estate was last of my parade, a sea of red hair and pitying glances. Elane forced her way to my side, forced her way through the guards for a moment of solidarity, It didn't last. It couldn't. But I felt the weight of it all the same.

My head lolls as Sonya taps her glass. "I don't know what you were thinking, truly." She studies her nails, flexing each scarlet and navy swirl. "If you were going to rebel, you should've at least waited."

I hold my glass at an angle, polishing my court voice to perfection. "I saw your grandmother, you know."

She sharpens. It's the first time I've spoken to her since Corros, so keen she was to avoid me. "Save the lies, Samos." She tips back some champagne. "My grief is not for you to wield."

On my other side, Atara hums. "Oh, how the mighty have fallen." She chuckles into her glass, and I realize Sonya's is missing. "Idiot and ax-crazy. You guys were made for each other."

I tamp down the urge to slice her hand off again, opting instead to give a coy smile. My voice is soft, deadly. "Isn't it strange, how he won't show the footage?" I cock my head. "How the Panther disappeared right when he ascended?"

Sonya tosses her hair, turning to me. "Go back to your cell, Samos." Her gaze could cut glass. "If you're so certain you'll see her there."

My lips tug. "Come with me, Sonya." I extend a hand. "See for yourself, if you're so certain I lie."

She leans back. "I'll say it again." A flick of the nearest glass. "Go back to your cell."

"No."

She stares, calm. Behind her, the Arvens shift, awaiting orders, one wrong twitch from sweeping me away. "Do I have to get Anabel?"

I shrug. "Let her come."

"That's enough." Rane Arven's hand closes around my arm, jerking me upright. "House Calore has no time for traitors."

A month ago, I could've told him to back off. For now, I snatch my arm away. "Very well." My fingers dig into my dress, black silk pooling at my thighs. It's not my design, not anymore. Not when I have no ability to speak of.

Sonya smiles, and my neck hairs stand on end. "Go on." She chuckles. "I imagine you don't care about the ceremony."

I bristle, raking a hand through tangled and unwashed hair. Prison life has not been kind to me, no matter how temporary Elara insists it will be. "I don't." I wave a hand. "A different table, if you will?"

He doesn't blink. "Denied."

I lean back, huffing. A hand grazes my shoulder, and I tense, only for Elane's voice to cut through the noise. "Go, Eve." Her lips brush against my ear. "I'll be with you as soon as I can."

I pause. It isn't like her to ask me to bend, to sheath my knives and hide my fangs. Something more is going on. Something I have been left out of.

Sonya eyes me over the rim of a new glass. "It's rude to stare." The words slide off her tongue like ice down a back. "But I suppose you've no need for manners now."

There's something strange about her tone, as if she were hiding something. I know Sonya can bluff better than this. Whatever it is, she wants me to notice.

I stand, face smoothed to stone. "I suppose not." The words ring hollow, but I make them sharp as my former blades. "I won't forget this."

Threat, promise–either one gets the job done. Sonya eye's burn as I turn away, a whisper of something I don't care to read. Elane has disappeared, absent or invisible, and I resist the urge to dab my eyes.

The lock clicks like the lid of a tomb, and I slump against the wall. Hours pass. My cell closes around me, the walls increasingly tight. I clutch my chest to steady my breath. Stupid. Two weeks in, and I'm already losing my mind.

Footsteps echo off the stone, and my ears perk despite myself. The walls tap, tap, tap, and I fear I'm hallucinating, only for a figure to emerge from the shadows. "Evangeline." My heart leaps into my throat as Queen Anabel studies me. "You've been quite the spectacle."

I straighten. "All the best Silvers are."

She chuckles. "Of course."

Behind her, the Arvens shift, eyes wary. I clear my throat. "You weren't at the wedding."

"Hmm." Her hand strays to the blade at her hip. "I wasn't."

It happens so fast.

One second, the guards are silent and still. The next, they scream, blood on the blade, Anabel standing over the first body as the next charges draws their gun too late. No sound. No scream. Only a widening pool of silver blood.

Anabel plants the sword in the body before rifling through their pockets, a bloody key and stained fingers. She tuts. "Apologies for the mess." The key fits in the lock like a glove. "Silent stone only leaves so many options."

I stare, frozen in place. The air fills with the smell of blood, bodies on a battlefield I have never fought. I swallow, forcing a foot forward. "You–"

She hugs me, patting my back. "Thank you for freeing my grandson." A whisper in my ear. "It's about time I returned the favor."