King’s Cage (Red Queen Book 3)

After a week of staring at my clock, waiting for midnight, I begin to despair. Of course Farley can’t reach us here. Even she is not so talented. But tonight, when the clock ticks, I feel nothing for the first time since Queenstrial. No cameras, no electricity, nothing. The power is completely out. I’ve been in blackouts before, too many to count, but this is different. This isn’t an accident. This is for me.

Moving quickly, I slip into my boots, now broken in by weeks of wear, and head for the door. I’m barely out in the hallway before I hear Walsh in my ear, speaking softly and quickly as she pulls me through the forced darkness.

“We don’t have much time,” she murmurs, hustling me into a service stairwell. It’s pitch-black, but she knows where we’re going, and I trust her to get me there. “They’ll have the power back on in fifteen minutes if we’re lucky.”

“And if we aren’t?” I breathe in the darkness.

She hustles me down the stairs and shoulders open a door. “Then I hope you’re not too attached to your head.”

The smell of earth and dirt and water hits me first, churning up all my memories of life in the woods. But even though it looks like a forest, with gnarled old trees and hundreds of plants painted blue and black by the moon, a glass roof rises overhead. The conservatory. Twisting shadows sprawl across the ground, each one worse than the next. I see Security and Sentinels in every dark corner, waiting to capture and kill us like they did my brother. But instead of their horrific black or flame uniforms, there’s nothing but flowers blooming beneath the glass ceiling of stars.

“Excuse me if I don’t curtsy,” a voice says, emerging from a grove of white-spangled magnolia trees. Her blue eyes reflect the moon, glowing in the dark with cold fire. Farley has a real talent for theatrics.

Like in her broadcast, she wears a red scarf across her face, hiding her features. But it doesn’t hide a ruinous scar that marches down her neck, disappearing beneath the collar of her shirt. It looks new, barely beginning to heal. She’s been busy since I last saw her. But then, so have I.

“Farley,” I say, tipping my head in greeting.

She doesn’t nod back, but then, I didn’t expect her to. All business. “And the other one?” she murmurs. Other one?

“Holland’s bringing him. Any second now.” Walsh sounds breathless, excited even, about whoever we’re waiting for. Even Farley’s eyes shine.

“What is it? Who else joined up?” They don’t answer me, exchanging glances instead. A few names run through my head, servants and kitchen boys who would support the cause.

But the person who joins us is no servant. He’s not even Red.

“Maven.”

I don’t know whether to scream or run when I see my betrothed appear from the shadows. He’s a prince, he’s Silver, he’s the enemy, and yet, here he is, standing with one of the leaders of the Scarlet Guard. His companion Holland, an aging Red servant with years of service behind him, seems to swell with pride.

“I told you, you’re not alone, Mare,” Maven says, but he doesn’t smile. A hand twitches at his side—he’s all nerves. Farley scares him.

And I can see why. She steps toward us, gun in hand, but she’s just as nervous as he is. Still, her voice does not shake. “I want to hear it from your lips, little prince. Tell me what you told him,” she says, tipping her head toward Holland.

Maven sneers at “little prince,” his lips curving in distaste, but he doesn’t snap at her. “I want to join the Guard,” he says, his voice full of conviction.

She moves quickly, cocking the pistol and taking aim in the same motion. My heart seems to stop when she presses the barrel to his forehead, but Maven doesn’t flinch. “Why?” she hisses.

“Because this world is wrong. What my father has done, what my brother will do, is wrong.” Even with a gun to his head, he manages to speak calmly, but a bead of sweat trickles down his neck. Farley doesn’t pull away, waiting for a better answer, and I find myself doing the same.

His eyes shift, moving to mine, and he swallows hard. “When I was twelve, my father sent me to the war front, to toughen me up, to make me more like my brother. Cal is perfect, you see, so why couldn’t I be the same?”

I can’t help but flinch at his words, recognizing the pain in them. I lived in Gisa’s shadow, and he lived in Cal’s. I know what that life is like.

Farley sniffs, almost laughing at him. “I have no use for jealous little boys.”

“I wish it was jealousy that drove me here,” Maven murmurs. “I spent three years in the barracks, following Cal and officers and generals, watching soldiers fight and die for a war no one believed in. Where Cal saw honor and loyalty, I saw foolishness. I saw waste. Blood on both sides of the dividing line, and your people gave so much more.”

I remember the books in Cal’s room, the tactics and maneuvers laid out like a game. The memory makes me cringe, but what Maven says next chills my blood.

“There was a boy, just seventeen, a Red from the frozen north. He didn’t know me on sight, not like everyone else, but he treated me just fine. He treated me like a person. I think he was my first real friend.” Maybe it’s a trick of the moonlight, but something like tears glimmer in his eyes. “His name was Thomas, and I watched him die. I could’ve saved him, but my guards held me back. His life wasn’t worth mine, they said.” Then the tears are gone, replaced by clenched fists and an iron will. “Cal calls this the balance, Silver over Red. He’s a good person, and he’ll be a just ruler, but he doesn’t think change is worth the cost,” he says. “I’m trying to tell you that I’m not the same as the rest of them. I think my life is worth yours, and I’ll give it gladly, if it means change.”

He is a prince and, worst of all, the queen’s son. I didn’t want to trust him before for this very reason, for the secrets he kept hidden. Or maybe this is what he was hiding all along . . . his own heart.

Though he tries his best to look grim, to keep his spine straight and his lips from trembling, I can see the boy beneath the mask. Part of me wants to embrace him, to comfort him, but Farley would stop me before I could. When she lowers her gun, slowly but surely, I let go of a breath I didn’t realize I was holding in.

“The boy speaks true,” the manservant Holland says. He shifts to stand next to Maven, strangely protective of his prince. “He’s felt this way for months now, since he returned from the front.”

“And you told him of us after a few tear-filled nights?” Farley sneers, turning her fearsome gaze on Holland. But the man holds firm.

“I’ve known the prince since boyhood. Anyone close to him can see his heart has changed.” Holland glances sidelong at Maven, as if remembering the boy he was. “Think what an ally he could be. What a difference he could make.”

Maven is different. I know that firsthand, but something tells me my words won’t sway Farley. Only Maven can do that now.

“Swear on your colors,” she growls at him.

An ancient oath, according to Lady Blonos. Like swearing on your life, your family, and your children to come, all at once. And Maven doesn’t hesitate to do it.

“I swear on my colors,” he says, dipping his head. “I pledge myself to the Scarlet Guard.” It sounds like his marriage proposal, but this is far more important, and more deadly.

“Welcome to the Scarlet Guard,” she finally says, pulling away her scarf.

I move quietly over the tile floor until I feel his hand in mine. It blazes with now familiar heat. “Thank you, Maven,” I whisper. “You don’t know what this means to us.” To me.

Any other would smile at the prospect of recruiting a Silver, and a royal at that, but Farley barely reacts at all. “What are you willing to do for us?”

“I can give you information, intelligence, whatever you might need to continue forward with your operation. I sit on tax councils with my father—”

“We don’t care about taxes,” Farley snaps. She casts an angry glance at me, as if it’s my fault she doesn’t like what he’s offering. “What we need are names, locations, targets. What to hit and when to cause the most damage. Can you give me that?”

Maven shifts, uncomfortable. “I would prefer a less hostile path,” he mutters. “Your violent methods aren’t winning you any friends.”

Farley scoffs, letting the sound echo over the conservatory. “Your people are a thousand times more violent and cruel than mine. We’ve spent the last few centuries under a Silver boot, and we’re not going to get out by being nice.”

“I suppose,” Maven murmurs. I can tell he’s thinking of Thomas, of everyone he watched die. His shoulder brushes mine as he pulls back, retreating into me for protection. Farley doesn’t miss it and almost laughs out loud.

“The little prince and the little lightning girl.” She laughs. “You two suit each other. One, a coward, and you”—she turns to me, her steel-blue eyes burning—“the last time we met, you were scrabbling in the mud for a miracle.”

“I found it,” I tell her. To cement my point, my hands spark up, casting dancing purple light over us.

The darkness seems to shift, and members of the Scarlet Guard reveal themselves in menacing order, stepping out from trees and bushes. Their faces are masked with scarves and bandannas, but they don’t hide everything. The tallest one must be Tristan, with his long limbs. I can tell by the way they stand, tense and ready for action, that they’re afraid. But Farley’s face doesn’t change. She knows the people meant to protect her won’t do much against Maven, or even me, but she doesn’t look at all intimidated. To my great surprise, she finally smiles. Her grin is fearsome, full of teeth and a wild hunger.

“We can bomb and burn every inch of this country down,” she murmurs, looking between us with something like pride, “but that will never do the damage you two can do. A Silver prince turning against his crown, a Red girl with abilities. What will people say, when they see you standing with us?”

“I thought you wanted—,” Maven starts, but Farley waves the words away.

“The bombings are just a way to get attention. Once we have it, once every Silver in this forsaken country is watching, we need something to show them.” Her gaze turns calculating as she measures us up, weighing us against whatever she has in mind. “I think you’ll do quite nicely.”

My voice trembles, dreading what she might say. “As what?”

“The face of our glorious revolution,” she says proudly, tossing her head back. Her golden hair catches the moonlight. For a second, she seems to wear a sparkling crown. “The drop of water to break the dam.”

Maven nods with fervor.

“So, where do we start?”

“Well, I think it’s time we took a page out of Mare’s book of mischief.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I don’t understand, but Maven follows Farley’s line of thought easily.Content protected by Nôv/el(D)rama.Org.

“My father has been covering up other attacks by the Guard,” he mutters, explaining her plan.

My mind flickers back to Colonel Macanthos and her outburst at luncheon. “The airfield, Delphie, Harbor Bay.”

Maven nods. “He called them accidents, training exercises, lies. But when you sparked up at Queenstrial, even my mother couldn’t talk you away. We need something like that, something no one can hide. To show the world the Scarlet Guard is very dangerous and very real.”

“But won’t that have consequences?” My thoughts flash back to the riot, to the innocent people tortured and killed by a mindless horde. “The Silvers will turn on us, things will get worse.”

Farley looks away, unable to hold my gaze. “And more will join us. More will realize the lives we live are wrong and that something can be done to change it. We’ve stood still for far too long; it’s time to make sacrifices and move forward.”

“Was my brother your sacrifice?” I snap, feeling anger flare within me. “Was his death worth it to you?”

To her credit, she doesn’t try to lie. “Shade knew what he was getting into.”

“And what about everyone else? What about the kids and the elders and anyone who hasn’t signed up for your ‘glorious revolution’? What happens when Sentinels start rounding them up for punishment when they can’t find you?”

Maven’s voice is warm and soft in my ear. “Think of your histories, Mare. What has Julian taught you?”

He taught me about death. The before. The wars. But beyond that, in a time when things could still change, there were revolutions. The people rose, the empires fell, and things changed. Liberty moved in arcs, rising and falling with the tide of time.

“Revolution needs a spark,” I murmur, repeating what Julian would say in our lessons. “And even sparks burn.”

Farley smiles. “You should know that better than anyone.”

But I’m still not convinced. The pain of losing Shade, of knowing my parents have lost a child, will only multiply if we do this. How many more Shades will die?

Strangely it’s Maven, not Farley, who tries to sway me.

“Cal believes that change is not worth the cost,” he says. His voice shakes, quivering with nerves and conviction. “And he’s going to rule one day—do you want to let him be the future?”

For once, my answer is easy. “No.”

Farley nods, pleased. “Walsh and Holland”—she jerks her head toward them—“tell me there’s going to be a little party here.”

“The ball,” Maven offers.

“It’s an impossible target,” I snap. “Everyone will have guards; the queen will know if something goes wrong—”

“She will not,” Maven breaks in, almost scoffing at the idea. “My mother is not all-powerful, as she would want you to believe. Even she has limits.”

Limits? The queen? Just the thought makes my mind run wild. “How can you say that? You know what she can do—”

“I know that in the middle of a ball, with so many voices and thoughts swirling around her, she’ll be useless. And so long as we stay out of her path, give her no reason to prod, she won’t know a thing. The same goes for the Eagrie eyes. They won’t be looking ahead for trouble, and so they won’t see it.” He turns back to Farley, his spine straight as an arrow. “Silvers might be strong, but we are not invincible. It can be done.”

Farley nods smoothly, smiling with her teeth. “We’ll be in contact again, once things are set in motion.”

“Can I ask something in return?” I blurt, reaching out to grab her arm. “My friend, the one I came to you about before, wants to join the Guard. But you can’t let him. Just make sure he doesn’t get involved in any of this.”

Gently, she peels my fingers from her arm as regret clouds her eyes.

“I hope you don’t mean me.”

To my horror, one of her shadowy guards steps forward. The red rag around his face doesn’t hide the set of his broad shoulders or the ratty shirt I’ve seen a thousand times. But the steely look in his eyes, the determination of a man twice his age, is something I don’t recognize at all. Kilorn looks years away already. Scarlet Guard to the bone, willing to fight and die for the cause. He’s Red as the dawn.

“No,” I whisper, drawing back from Farley. Now I can only see Kilorn running full speed toward his doom. “You know what happened to Shade. You can’t do this.”

He pulls away the rag and reaches out to embrace me, but I step away. His touch feels like a betrayal. “Mare, you don’t have to keep trying to save me.”

“I will as long as you won’t.” How can he expect to be anything but a human shield? How can he do this? Far away, something hums at me, growing louder by the second, but I barely notice. I’m more focused on keeping the tears from falling in front of Farley and the Guard and Maven.

“Kilorn, please.”

He darkens at my words, like they’re an insult rather than a young girl’s plea.

“You made your choice, and I’m making mine.”

“I made the choice for you, to keep you safe,” I snap. It’s amazing how easily we fall back into our old rhythm, bickering like always. But there’s much more on the line now. I can’t just shove him into the mud and walk away. “I bargained for you.”

“You’re doing what you think will protect me, Mare,” he mutters, his voice a low rumble. “So let me do what I can to save you.”

My eyes squeeze shut, letting my heartache take over. I’ve been protecting Kilorn every day since his mother left, since he almost starved to death in my doorway. And now he won’t let me, no matter how dangerous the future has become.

Slowly, I open my eyes again.

“Do what you want, Kilorn.” My voice is cold and mechanical, like the wires and circuits trying to switch back on. “The power’s coming back soon. We should be on the move.”

The others spring into action, disappearing into the conservatory, and Walsh takes me by the arm. Kilorn backs away, following the others into the shadows, but his eyes stay on me.

“Mare,” he calls after me. “At least say good-bye.”

But I’m already walking, Maven by my side, Walsh leading us both. I won’t look back, not now when he’s betrayed all I’ve ever done for him.

Time moves slowly when you’re waiting for something good, so naturally the days fly by as the dreaded ball approaches. A week passes without any contact, leaving Maven and me in the dark as the hours march on. More Training, more Protocol, more brainless lunches that almost leave me in tears. Every time I have to lie, to praise the Silvers and rip down my own. Only the Guard keeps me strong.

Lady Blonos scolds me for being distracted in Protocol. I don’t have the heart to tell her that, distracted or not, I’ll never be able to learn the dance steps she’s trying to teach for the Parting Ball. As suited as I might be to sneaking, I’m horrible with rhythmic motion. Meanwhile, the once dreaded Training is an outlet for all my anger and stress, allowing me to run or spark off everything I’m trying to keep inside.

But just when I’m finally beginning to get the hang of things, the mood of Training shifts drastically. Evangeline and her lackeys don’t snipe at me, instead focusing intently on their warm-ups. Even Maven goes through his stretches more carefully, like he’s preparing for something.

“What’s going on?” I ask him, nodding to the rest of the class. My eyes linger on Cal, currently doing push-ups in perfect form.

“You’ll see in a minute,” Maven replies, his voice oddly dull.

When Arven enters with Provos, even he has a strange spring in his step. He doesn’t bark out an order to run and approaches the class instead.

“Tirana,” Instructor Arven murmurs.

A girl in a blue-striped suit, the nymph from House Osanos, jumps to attention. She makes her way toward the center of the floor, waiting for something. She looks equal parts excited and terrified.

Arven turns, searching through us. For a second, his eyes linger on me but thankfully shift to Maven.

“Prince Maven, if you please.” He gestures to where Tirana waits.

Maven nods and moves to stand beside her. Both of them tense, fingers twitching as they await whatever’s coming.

Suddenly, the training floor moves around them, pushing clear walls up to form something. Again, Provos raises his arms, using his abilities to transform the training hall. As the structure takes shape, my heart hammers, realizing exactly what it is.

An arena.

Cal takes Maven’s place at my side, his movements quick and silent. “They won’t hurt each other,” he explains. “Arven stops us before anyone can do real damage, and there are healers on hand.”

“Comforting,” I choke out.

In the center of the quickly forming arena, both Maven and Tirana prepare for their match. Maven’s bracelet sparks, and fire blazes in his hands, streaking up his arms, while droplets of moisture leech from the air to swirl around Tirana in a ghostly display. Both of them look ready for battle.

Something about my unease sets Cal on edge. “Is Maven the only thing you’re worried about?”

Not even close. “Protocol’s not exactly easy right now.” I’m not lying, but on my list of problems, learning to dance is at the very bottom. “It seems I’m even worse at dancing than memorizing court etiquette.”

To my surprise, Cal laughs loudly. “You must be horrible.”

“Well, it’s difficult to learn without a partner,” I snap, bristling at him.

“Indeed.”

The last two pieces lock together, completing the training arena and fencing in Maven and his opponent. Now they’re separated from the rest of us by thick glass, trapped together in a miniature version of a battle arena. The last time I watched Silvers fight, someone almost died.

“Who has the advantage?” Arven says, questioning the class. Every hand but mine shoots into the air. “Elane?”

The Haven girl juts her chin forward, speaking proudly. “Tirana has the advantage. She is older and more experienced.” Elane says this like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Maven’s cheeks flush white, though he tries to hide it. “And water defeats fire.”

“Very good.” Arven shifts his eyes back to Maven, daring him to argue. But Maven holds his tongue, letting the growing fire speak for him. “Impress me.”

They collide, spitting fire and rain in a duel of the elements. Tirana uses her water like a shield, and to Maven’s fiery attacks, it’s impenetrable. Every time he gets close to her, swinging with flaming fists, he comes back with nothing but steam. The battle looks even, but somehow Maven seems to have the edge. He’s on the offensive, backing her into a wall.

All around us, the class cheers, goading on the warriors. I used to be disgusted by displays like this, but now I’m having a hard time keeping quiet. Every time Maven attacks, closer to pinning down Tirana, it’s all I can do not to cheer with the others.

“It’s a trap, Mavey,” Cal whispers, more to himself than anyone.

“What is it? What’s she going to do?”

Cal shakes his head. “Just watch. She’s got him.”

But Tirana looks anything but victorious. She’s flat against the wall, dueling hard behind her watery shield as she blocks blow after blow.

I don’t miss the lightning-quick moment as Tirana literally turns the tide on Maven. She grabs his arm and pulls, spinning around so they trade places in a heartbeat. Now it’s Maven behind her shield, pinned between the water and the wall. But he can’t control the water, and it presses against him, holding him back even as he tries to burn it away. The water only boils, bubbling over his blazing skin.

Tirana stands back, watching him struggle with a smile on her face. “Yield?”

A stream of bubbles escapes Maven’s lips. Yield.

The water drops from him, vaporizing back into the air to the sound of applause. Provos waves a hand again, and one of the arena walls slides back. Tirana gives a tiny bow while Maven trudges out of the circle, a soggy, pouting mess.

“I challenge Elane Haven,” Sonya Iral says sharply, trying to get the words out before our instructor can pair her with someone else. Arven nods, allowing the challenge, before turning his gaze on Elane. To my surprise, she smiles and saunters toward the arena, her long red hair swaying with the movement.

“I accept your challenge,” Elane replies, taking a spot in the center of the arena. “I hope you’ve learned some new tricks.”

Sonya follows, eyes dancing. She even laughs. “You think I’d tell you if I did?”

Somehow they manage to giggle and smile right up until Elane Haven disappears entirely and grabs Sonya around the throat. She chokes, gasping for air, before twisting in the invisible girl’s arms and slipping away. Their match devolves quickly into a deadly, violent game of cat and invisible mouse.

Maven doesn’t bother to watch, angry with himself over his performance. “Yes?” he says to Cal, and his brother launches headfirst into a hushed lecture. I get the feeling this is normal.

“Don’t corner someone better than you, it makes them more dangerous,” he says, putting an arm around his brother’s shoulder. “You can’t beat her with ability, so beat her with your head.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Maven mutters, begrudging the advice but taking it all the same.

“You’re getting better though,” Cal murmurs, patting Maven on the shoulder. He means well but comes off as patronizing. I’m surprised Maven doesn’t snap at him—but he’s used to this, like I was used to Gisa.

“Thanks, Cal. I think he gets it,” I say, speaking for Maven.

His older brother isn’t stupid and takes the hint with a frown. With nothing but a backward glance at me, Cal leaves us to stand with Evangeline. I wish he wouldn’t, just so I don’t have to watch her smirk and gloat. Not to mention I get this strange twist in my stomach every time he looks at her.

Once he’s out of earshot, I nudge Maven with my shoulder. “He’s right, you know. You have to outsmart people like that.”

In front of us, Sonya grabs on to what seems like air and slams it against the wall. Silver liquid spatters, and Elane flutters back into visibility, a trail of blood streaming from her nose.

“He’s always right when it comes to the arena,” he rumbles, strangely upset. “Just wait and see.”

Across the arena, Evangeline smiles at the murderous display between us. How she can watch her friends bleeding on the floor, I don’t know. Silvers are different, I remind myself. Their scars don’t last. They don’t remember pain. With skin healers waiting in the wings, violence has taken on a new meaning for them. A broken spine, a split stomach, it doesn’t matter. Someone will always come to fix you. They don’t know the meaning of danger or fear or pain. It’s only their pride that can be truly hurt.

You are Silver. You are Mareena Titanos. You enjoy this.

Cal’s eyes dart between the girls, studying them like a book or a painting rather than a moving mass of blood and bone. Beneath the black cut of his training suit, his muscles tense, ready for his turn.

And when it comes, I understand what Maven means.

Instructor Arven pits Cal against two others, the windweaver Oliver and Cyrine Macanthos, a girl who turns her skin to stone. It’s a match in name only. Despite being outnumbered, Cal toys with the other two. He incapacitates them one at a time, trapping Oliver in a swirl of fire while trading blows with Cyrine. She looks like a living statue, made of solid rock rather than flesh, but Cal’s stronger. His blows splinter her rocky skin, sending spider cracks through her body with every punch. This is just practice to him; he almost looks bored. He ends the match when the arena explodes into a churning inferno that even Maven steps back from. By the time the smoke and fire clears, both Oliver and Cyrine have yielded. Their skin cracks in bits of burned flesh, but neither cries out.

Cal leaves them both behind, not bothering to watch as a skin healer appears to fix them up. He saved me, he brought me home, he broke the rules for me. And he’s a merciless soldier, the heir to a bloody throne.

Cal’s blood might be silver, but his heart is black as burned skin.

When his eyes trail to mine, I force myself to look away. Instead of letting his warmth, his strange kindness confuse me, I commit the inferno to memory. Cal is more dangerous than all of them put together. I cannot forget that.

“Evangeline, Andros,” Arven clips, nodding at the pair of them. Andros deflates, almost annoyed at the prospect of fighting—and losing—to Evangeline, but dutifully trudges into the arena. To my surprise, Evangeline doesn’t budge.

“No,” she says boldly, planting her feet.

When Arven whirls to her, his voice rises above his usual whisper and it cuts like a razor. “I beg your pardon, Lady Samos?”

She turns her black eyes on me, and her gaze is sharp as any knife.

“I challenge Mareena Titanos.”