Red Ruse

Whisper

Kilorn

We should've struck on her wedding day. At least, that's what I told Farley. Mare's always been in danger, but being Maven's wife was another matter entirely. The puppet queen. The false Red hope.

Maven's Red ruse to distract us all.

My fingers dig in the dirt, desperate to hold onto something, anything. I still remember the conversation with the Colonel, when we finally brought back our thinning Newblood army. She took your forces for herself. He'd gnashed his teeth. For whatever promise she got from him.

He's not wrong. Mare's broadcasts–no, Maven's broadcasts that she read–had drawn in most of the Newbloods before we could reach them. A grain supply of a month or more, she said.

My fingers dig deeper. He thinks she's a lost cause.

I think he gives up too easily.

The broadcast comes back to me in full force, the sight of their clasped hands and solemn vows. Of darting glances and whispered threats, a kiss to her jaw, then lips, for all of Norta to see.

A pang of jealousy stabs my gut, and I curse it once more. Mare has enough on her plate: she doesn't need petty boys fighting over her. Still, I don't want her falling into his trap. Not when he has no intent on making things better for us.

Beside me, Farley paces, fingers twitching as they brush her stomach. "He's still not back." Her eyelids flutter. "You think he–?"

I clear my throat. "Shade can take care of himself." I bite my lip. "Even if Mare won't leave."

Silence.

On paper, she was a vision, a monster of silver silk, veil studded with diamonds and pearls as the rest of us continued to starve. But I know better. I know the fists she makes when she's trying not to shake. I know what her eyes look like when the whites are shot with blood.

"It's been months, Kilorn." She shakes her head. "He's either dead or . . . worse."

I swallow.

"Captain." A soldier stands in the doorway, clearing his throat. "We have a message for you."

Farley straightens, any hint of fear melting away. It's the kind of mask I've donned since birth, though hers is seeped in authority where mine is formed of humor. The kind of resilience needed to chase the demons away. "In what form?"

A strange look crosses his face as he steps aside, revealing a pair of men with brown skin and tight black curls. One of them bows his head. "A new one, Captain." His voice is smooth, cordial, and I instantly don't trust him. "A new one altogether."

Rash and Tahir, as I would learn their names were, were connected to a third sibling, a triplet, whom they could listen to and hear from all the way across the world. It was strange, watching their faces contort and shift, as if possessed by some evil spirit. Nevertheless, we could talk to their command. Nevertheless, we could talk to Montfort.

Premier Davidson. An elected leader, a Red man, a willing aid–it could be a trick. It could be a ruse. But no one wants it to be. And we're running out of other options.

Why I'm invited, I'm not sure. All I know is that they keep asking me about Mare, picking me clean of information I'm not entirely willing to give. Her siblings. Old Stilts rivalries. Her pickpocketing skills.

Where is she? I ask every time.

Busy. He waves a hand.

Eventually, he admits that they don't want her here. That she's too close to the former king, that she keeps his secrets and sleeps in his bed. That the Snake has found a home in the grass.

And even worse . . . they don't know what Elara's done to her mind. What shadows lurk within this new Red queen. It's something that even gives me pause.

Something I simply have to see for myself.