He closes the distance between us almost too quickly, coming to sit beside me. He smells clean, fresh from a shower. This close, I can see how thin he’s become, and the hollow emptiness of his eyes. Even Sara cannot heal minds. “And a lecture needs a listener. You are certainly not listening to me anymore.” He lowers his voice and tips my face, making me look at him. I’m tired enough to let him. “Or anyone, for that matter. Not even Cal.”
“Are you going to yell at me too?”
He smiles sadly. “Have I ever?”
“No,” I whisper, wishing I didn’t have to. “No, you haven’t.”
“And I’m not about to start now. I have only come to tell you what you need to hear. I will not make you listen, I will not make you obey. I leave you the choice. As it should be.”
“Okay.”
“I told you once that anyone can betray anyone. I know you remember.” Oh, do I remember. “And I say it again. Anyone, anything, can betray anyone. Even your own heart.”
“Julian—”
“No one is born evil, just like no one is born alone. They become that way, through choice and circumstance. The latter you cannot control, but the former … Mare, I am very afraid for you. Things have been done to you, things no person should suffer. You’ve seen horrible things, done horrible things, and they will change you. I’m so afraid for what you could be, if given the wrong chance.”
So am I.
I let my hand close around his. The connection is calming enough, but weak. Our bond is strained at best, and I don’t know how to fix it. “I will try, Julian,” I murmur. “I will try.”
In the back of my mind, I wonder. Will Julian tell tales of me one day? When I have become something wretched, someone like Elara, with nothing and no one to love her? Will I simply be the girl who tried? No. I cannot think that way. I will not. I am Mare Barrow. I am strong enough. I’ve done things, terrible things, and I don’t deserve forgiveness for them. But I see it in Julian’s eyes all the same. And it fills me with such hope. I will not become a monster, no matter what I must do in the days ahead. I will not lose who I am, even if it kills me.
“Now, do you need me to walk you to your family’s bunk, or can you find the way?”
I can’t help but snort. “Do you even know the way?”
“It’s not polite to question your elders, lightning girl.”
“I had a teacher once who told me to question everything.”
His eyes twinkle and he puffs out his weak chest proudly. “Your teacher was a smart man.”
I notice his eyes lingering, and the light in them goes out. He stares at my exposed collarbone, at the brand there. I debate covering it up, but decide not to move. I won’t hide the M burned into me, not from him.
“Sara can fix that,” he murmurs. “Shall I get her?”
On shaky legs, I stand. There are many scars I want her to heal, but not this one. “No.” Let it be a reminder to us all.
Arm in arm, we leave the empty infirmary. It echoes with our footsteps, a white room steadily fading to gray. Outside, a shade has been drawn across the world. Winter waits on our doorstep—it will knock soon. But I like the cold air. It wakes me up.
As we cross the central yard, heading for Barracks 3, I take note of the compound. A few familiar faces mix in with the various groups, some training, others transporting goods or simply milling around. I spot Ada sliding beneath a broken transport, an instruction manual in hand. Lory kneels next to her, sifting through a pile of tools. A few yards away, Darmian falls in with a troop of Guardsmen, joining them on a jog. They’re the only ones from the Notch I see, and it turns my stomach. Cameron, Nix, Nanny, Gareth, Ketha, where are they? I feel quite sick, but swallow the sensation. I only have the strength to mourn the person I know for sure is dead.
Julian is not permitted to enter Barracks 3. He informs me of this with a tight-lipped smile, his words dripping disdain. There’s no way to enforce the order, but he obeys it all the same. “I’m just trying to be a ‘good’ Silver,” he says dryly. “The Colonel’s already been kind enough to let us out of our barracks. I would hate to betray his trust.”
“I’ll come find you after.” I squeeze his shoulder. “It must be getting pretty bad in there.”
Julian only shrugs. “Sara is taking her time healing—we don’t want too many overpowered, underfed, and angry Silvers in an enclosed space. And they know what you did for them. They have no reason to make a fuss—yet.” Yet. A simple but effective warning. The Colonel doesn’t know how to handle so many Silver refugees, and will certainly misstep soon.
“I’ll do my best,” I sigh, and add quelling a possible riot to my growing to-do list. Don’t cry in front of Mom, apologize to Farley, figure out how to save five thousand children, nanny a bunch of Silvers, put my head through a wall. Seems doable.
The barracks is as I remember, full of labyrinthine twists and turns. I get lost once or twice, but finally I find the door with the purple scarf tied to the doorknob. It’s firmly shut, and I have to knock.
Bree opens the door. His face is red from crying, and that almost does me in right then and there. “Took you long enough,” he growls, stepping back so I can enter. I flinch at his harsh tone, but don’t retaliate. Instead, I put a hand on his arm. He cringes, but doesn’t pull away.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him. And then, louder, to the rest of the room, “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.”
Gisa and Tramy sit on mismatched chairs. Mom curls up on one of the beds, with Dad and his chair firmly planted next to her. While she turns away, hiding her face in a pillow, he looks straight at me.
“You had things to do,” Dad says. Gruff as always, but more insulting than he’s ever been. I deserve it. “We understand.”
“I should’ve been here.” I move farther into the room. How can I feel lost in such a small space? “I brought his body back.”
“We’ve seen it,” Bree snaps, taking a seat on the bunk opposite Mom. It sags under his enormous weight. “One little blast of a needle, and he’s gone.”
“I remember,” I murmur before I can stop myself.
Gisa twitches in her chair, her thin legs drawn up beneath herself. She flexes her bad hand, distracting herself. “Do you know who killed him?”
“Ptolemus Samos. A magnetron.” Back in the arena, Cal could’ve killed the wretched man. But he was merciful. And his mercy killed my brother.
“I know that name,” Tramy says, just to have something to fill the tense air. “He was one of your executioners. Couldn’t get you, but he got Shade.” It sounds like an accusation. I have to look down, examining my shoes instead of the hurt in his eyes.
“Did you get him back at least?” Bree gets to his feet again, unable to keep still. He towers over me, trying to look intimidating. He forgets that I’m not scared of brute force anymore. “Did you?”
“I killed a lot of people.” My voice breaks, but I soldier on. “I don’t even know how many, I just know the queen was one of them.”
On the bed, Mom pulls up, finally deciding to look at me. Her eyes swim with tears. “The queen?” she whispers, breathless.
“We have her body as well,” I say, almost too eager. Talking about her corpse is easier than grieving for my brother. So I tell them about the broadcast, what we hope to do.
The horrible thing should go out tonight, during the evening news bulletins. They’re mandatory now, an addition to the Measures, forcing every person in the kingdom to eat lies and propaganda with their dinner. A youthful, eager king, another victory in the trenches, and the like, but not tomorrow. Instead, Norta will see their dead queen. And the world will hear our call to arms. Bree paces, grinning madly at the thought of civil war, and Tramy follows, as he always does. They jabber between each other, already dreaming of marching into Archeon together, and planting our red flag on the ruins of Whitefire Palace. Gisa is less enthusiastic.