Red Ruse

Chapter One

Mare

The day we learned Elara died, Cal was crowned king

I can still see it if I close my eyes. The crown nestling in his hair, the crowd cheering below, the Calore colors I used to wear covering his every inch. The broadcast was blurry, but I caught enough. A blood red cape. A marble white smile.

I never wanted to kill someone more.

Elara's work, perhaps. She said she'd make me perfect for him. That if Maven couldn't let go, she'd break me instead. But I can't forget the flaming spear, how Shade writhed and burned to death in front of me. How a single moment shattered my world forever.

Air hisses between my teeth. Closing my eyes is never a good idea these days, not when I barely know what I'll find. But I do know one thing: it's the only place I can reach him. The only place I can tear him limb from limb, no matter the cost, no matter the screams, no matter the voices telling me to stop.

I wonder what silver blood tastes like.

The day we learned Elara died, Maven set the gardens on fire.

It makes me laugh now, sick person that I am, though the humor quickly fades when I remember his face. The haunted look in his eyes, the despair settling over his every inch. Freedom had its price, after all.

And I was the one he paid it for.

It started with a rose, a soft, pliant thing, cinders in the wind by the time he was done. It spread soon enough, singing leaf after leaf, devouring the bush as the seconds ticked by. I watched Maven fall to the ground, watched his fingers dig into the dirt, watched him shake and shudder as if possessed by a demon. I couldn't stop. I doubt he could either.

The day we learned Elara died, I was the one who calmed him down.

I didn't want to. A part of me wanted to watch it burn, to watch him tear it all asunder as I never could. But the gardens had done nothing wrong, and neither had the gardeners, the Reds, Silvers, and Newbloods who'd always eyed us with caution. We were a keg waiting for a match. And I had no intent on exploding just yet.

I knelt beside him, breathing hard. Maven. My voice, meant to be a hiss, came out in a sharp, stuttering breath. Stop it.

He didn't answer. The flamemakers at his wrists were still sparking, still sizzling, and I shut them off, suppressing the spark with a gnash of teeth. The fire stayed put. It didn't go out.

You have twelve seconds to–

He clasped my palm over his heart, and I could feel the beat of it through my fingers, feel my own pound in a steady, uneven rhythm. His lashes fluttered. Or what, Mare? He stared at the flames, a bitter, choked laugh. There's nothing you could do to me I haven't endured already.

I dug my nails in his chest, short and ragged, the bitten quicks bathed in orange light. I didn't do this, Maven.

You're not crying about it.

I scowled, kneeling my head. Your throne depends on the help of Montfort. My mouth found his ear, almost biting it as I shook. Do you want to waste it on a rosebush?

A beat passed.

Our throne, he whispered.

My breath caught in my throat. It wasn't the first time he'd said it, and it wouldn't be the last, no matter how it made the Premier shake his head in disapproval. I swallowed. Cal will win if you fall apart.

For a moment, the flames roared higher.

For another, they began to die.

Our throne, he whispered again.