Red Queen (Red Queen, #1)

by Victoria Aveyard

I know I shouldn’t. I know I should shut the door and not go down this road. But he’s leaving to fight, maybe to die. Shaking, I put my hand in his and let him pull me out of my room.

“It’s really not my business, but,” Julian begins, his voice startling me, “you seem, well, very attached to Prince Maven.”

“I’m just trying to help you. Maven is his mother’s son.” This time I really do snap. “You don’t know a thing about him.” Maven’s my friend. Maven’s risking more than me. “Judging him by his parents is like judging me for my blood. Just because you hate the king and queen doesn’t mean you can hate him too.”

“You forget yourself, little lightning girl.” The nickname feels like a slap in the face, shocking me back to reality. “This world is not your own. Learning to curtsy has not changed that. You don’t understand the game we’re playing.”

“Because this isn’t a game, Julian.” I push his book of records toward him, shoving the list of dead names into his lap. “This is life and death. I’m not playing for a throne or a crown or a prince. I’m not playing at all. I’m different.” “You are,” he murmurs, running a finger over the pages. “And that’s why you’re in danger, from everyone. Even Maven. Even me. Anyone can betray anyone.”

“Make no mistake, my girl,” he finally breathes. “You are playing the game as someone’s pawn.” I don’t have the heart to argue. Think what you want, Julian. I’m no one’s fool.

“I thought princes were born with the ability to dance and make idle conversation.” He chuckles again, quickening our pace with the movement. “Not me. If I had my way, I’d be in the garage or the barracks, building and training. Not like Maven. He’s twice the prince I’ll ever be.” I think of Maven, of his kind words, perfect manners, impeccable knowledge of court—all the things he pretends to be to hide his true heart. Twice the prince indeed. “But he’ll only ever be a prince,” I mutter, almost lamenting at the thought. “And you’ll be king.”

It’s our nature, Julian would say. We destroy. It’s the constant of our kind. No matter the color of blood, man will always fall. I didn’t understand that lesson a few days ago, but now, with Cal’s hands in mine, guiding me with the lightest touch, I’m beginning to see what he meant. I can feel myself falling.

“Are you really going to go with the legion?” Even the words make me afraid. He barely nods. “A general’s place is with his men.” “A prince’s place is with his princess. With Evangeline,” I add hastily. Good one, Mare, my mind screams. The air around us thickens with heat, though Cal doesn’t move at all. “She’ll be all right, I think. She’s not exactly attached to me. I won’t miss her either.” Unable to meet his gaze, I focus on what’s right in front of me. Unfortunately, that happens to be his chest and a much-too-thin shirt. Above me, he takes a ragged breath. Then his fingers are under my chin, tipping my head up to meet his gaze. Gold flame flickers in his eyes, reflecting the heat beneath. “I’ll miss you, Mare.”

So with hesitant, reluctant steps, I back away, out of his grasp and out of the circle of warmth I’ve gotten so used to. “I can’t,” is all I can manage, though I know my eyes betray me. Even now I can feel tears of anger and regret, tears I swore not to cry. But maybe the prospect of going off to war has made Cal bold and reckless, things he never was before. He takes me by the hand, pulling me to him. He’s betraying his only brother. I’m betraying my cause, Maven, and myself, but I don’t want to stop. Anyone can betray anyone. His lips are on mine, hard and warm and pressing. The touch is electrifying, but not like I’m used to. This isn’t a spark of destruction but a spark of life.

“You look beautiful,” he says quietly, nodding down at my dress. I don’t agree with him. It’s a silly, overdone thing, a complication of purple jewels that sparkle whenever I turn, making me look like a glittery bug. Still, I’m supposed to be a lady tonight, a future princess, so I nod and smile gratefully. I can’t help but remember that my lips, now smiling for Maven, were kissing his brother last night.

“Mare?” he prods, and I can hear the tremors in his voice. “Are you afraid, Maven?” My words are weak, a whisper. “I am.” His eyes harden, shifting into blue steel. “I’m afraid of failing. I’m afraid of letting this opportunity pass us by. And I’m afraid of what happens if nothing in this world ever changes.” He turns hot under my touch, driven by an inner resolve. “That scares me more than dying.” It’s hard not to be swept away by his words, and I nod along with him. How can I back out? I will not flinch. “Rise,” he murmurs, so low I barely hear him. Red as the dawn. His grip tightens on me as we come to the hall in front of the lifts.

“Here we go,” Maven says, letting go of my hand to stand at his mother’s side. My skin feels strangely cold without him.

It’s not as easy to dismiss Colonel Macanthos when she approaches. The scar on her face stands out sharply, especially tonight when everyone seems so polished. She might not care for the Guard, but she didn’t believe the queen either. She wasn’t ready to swallow the lies being spoon-fed to the rest of us. Her grip is strong as she shakes my hand; for once someone isn’t afraid I’ll break like glass. “Every happiness to you, Lady Mareena. I can see this one suits you.” She jerks her head toward Maven. “Not like fancy Samos,” she adds in a playful whisper. “She’ll make a sad queen, and you a happy princess, mark my words.” “Marked,” I breathe. I manage to smile, even though the colonel’s life will soon be at an end. No matter how many kind words she says, her minutes are numbered. When she moves on to Maven, shaking his hand and inviting him to inspect troops with her in a week or so, I can tell he’s just as affected. After she’s gone, his hand drops to mine, giving me a reassuring squeeze. I know he regrets naming her, but like Reynald, like Ptolemus, her death will serve a purpose. Her life will be worth it all, in the end.

Belicos Lerolan has a jolly grin, chestnut hair, and sunset-colored clothes to match his house colors. Unlike the others I’ve greeted tonight, he seems warm and kind. The smile behind his eyes is as real as his handshake.

I let my heart count out those last seconds, beating away the moments. Cal spots me through the crowd, grinning that smile I love, and starts to come toward me. But he will never reach me, not before the deed is done. The world slows until all I know is the shocking strength within the walls. Like in Training, like with Julian, I’m learning to control it. Four shots ring out, paired with four bright flashes from the guns high above. The screams come next.

weeping woman bumps into me, knocking me over. I land face-to-face with a corpse, staring at Colonel Macanthos’s scar. Silver blood trickles down her face, from her forehead to the floor. The bullet hole is strange, surrounded by gray, rocky flesh. She was a stoneskin. She was alive long enough to try and stop it, to shield herself. But the bullet couldn’t be stopped. She still died. I push back from the murdered woman, but my hands slide through a mixture of silverblood and wine. A scream escapes me in a terrifying combination of frustration and grief. The blood clings to my hands, like it knows what I’ve done. It’s sticky and cold and everywhere, trying to drown me. “MARE!” Strong arms pull me along the floor, dragging me away from the woman I let die. “Mare, please—,” the voice pleads, but for what, I don’t know.

The door behind us explodes inward, destroyed by flame. Beyond, the ballroom is black with smoke. An explosion. “Cal—” I try to squirm away from Lucas, to run back the way we came, but he throws me back. “Lucas, we have to help him!” “Trust me, a bomb won’t bother the prince,” he growls, moving me forward. “A bomb?” That wasn’t part of the plan. “Was that a bomb?” Lucas draws back from me, positively shaking in anger. “You saw that bloody red scarf. This is the Scarlet Guard and that”—he points back to the ballroom, still dark and burning—“that is who they are.” “This doesn’t make sense,” I murmur to myself, trying to remember every facet of the plan. Maven never told me about a bomb. Never. And Kilorn wouldn’t let me do this, not if he knew I would be in danger. They wouldn’t do this to me.

Anyone can betray anyone.

He starts at the sight of me. “Are you all right?” he breathes, pulling me into a quick embrace.

Walsh’s eye is swollen shut, but she seems all right. Not like Tristan, leaning against the wall to take pressure off a leg wet with blood. There’s a hasty bandage around the wound, torn from Kilorn’s shirt by the looks of it. For his part, Kilorn looks unscathed, to my great relief. He supports Farley with an arm, letting her stand against him. Her shoulder is dislocated, one arm hanging at a strange angle. But that doesn’t stop her from sneering at us. She even spits through the bars, a mix of blood and saliva that lands at Evangeline’s feet.

And beyond the wounded are the bodies of the dead, laid out before the king’s throne. Belicos Lerolan’s twin sons lie next to him, with their weeping mother holding vigil over the bodies. I have to put a hand to my mouth to keep from gasping. I never wanted this. Maven’s warm hands take mine, pulling me past the gruesome scene to our place by the throne.

“Mare—,” Kilorn whispers, puzzled at my hesitation, but I silence him with a look. “The bomb.” Smoke and fire cloud my thoughts, bringing me back to the moment the ballroom exploded. “Tell me about the bomb.” I expect them to fall over themselves in apologies, to beg my forgiveness, but instead, the three exchange blank looks. Farley leans against the bars, her eyes on fire. “I don’t know anything about that,” she hisses, barely audible. “I never authorized such a thing. It was supposed to be organized, with special targets. We do not kill at random, without purpose.” “The capital, the other bombings—?” “You know those buildings were empty. No one died there, not because of us,” she says evenly. “I swear to you, Mare, this was not our doing.”

Walsh hugs me, taking me by surprise. “I don’t know how,” she mutters, “but I hope you become queen one day. Imagine what you could do then? The Red queen.” I have to smile at the impossible thought. “Go, before your nonsense rubs off on me.” Farley isn’t one for hugs, but she does pat me on the shoulder. “We’ll meet again, and soon.” “Not like this, I hope.” Her face splits into a rare, toothy smile. Despite the scar, I realize she’s very pretty. “Not like this,” she echoes, before slipping out into the night with Walsh. “I know I can’t ask you to come with me,” Kilorn mutters, moving to follow them. He stares at his hands, examining scars I know better than my own mind. Look at me, you idiot. Sighing, I force myself to shove him toward freedom. “The cause needs me here. You need me here too.” “What I need and what I want are two very different things.” I try to laugh, but I can’t find the strength. “This is not our end, Mare,” Kilorn murmurs, embracing me. He laughs to himself, the noise vibrating in his chest. “Red queen. Has a nice ring to it.”

That night I dream of my brother Shade coming to visit me in the darkness. He smells like gunpowder. But when I blink, he disappears and my mind screams what I already know. Shade is dead.

But I’m not alone for long. Maven steps into my path, his lips quirked into an amused smile. “You’re up early.” Then he leans in, speaking in a low whisper. “Especially for having such a late night.” “I don’t know what you mean.” I try for an innocent tone. “The prisoners are gone. All three of them, disappeared into thin air.”

Maven lets me think, his eyes thoughtful as he watches the emotions rise in my face. He always lets me think. Sometimes his silence is better than anyone else’s words.

I want to slap him, to claw at him and scream for what he did to Farley and Tristan and Kilorn and Walsh. The sparks dance inside me, begging to be loosed. But after all, what did I expect? I know what he is and what he believes in—Reds are not worth saving. So I speak as civilly as I can. “Will you be leaving with your legion?” I know he isn’t, judging by the livid anger in his eyes. Once, I feared he would go, and now I wish he would. I can’t believe I cared about saving him. I can’t believe that was ever a thought in my head.

His eyes flick to me, but I won’t get caught in his bronze stare, not again. I turn my head, pretending to examine a painting on the wall. “Nice armor,” I sneer. “It will go well with your collection.” He looks stung, even confused, but quickly recovers. His smile is gone now, replaced by narrowed eyes and a clenched jaw. He taps at his armor; it sounds like claws on stone. “This was a gift from Ptolemus. I seem to share a common cause with my betrothed’s brother.” My betrothed. Like that’s supposed to make me jealous or something.

I can feel him slipping down not just the hall but a dark and twisted path. It makes me afraid for the boy who taught me how to dance. No, not for him. Of him. And that is worse than all my other terrors and nightmares.

“I hope you’ll remember your lessons.” Julian’s voice draws me out of my thoughts, back to the empty room. He stands behind me, following my gaze to the map wall. “I’m sorry I couldn’t teach you more.” “We’ll have plenty of time for Lessons in Archeon.” His smile is bittersweet and almost painful to look at. With a jolt I realize I can feel cameras watching us for the very first time. “Julian?”

Then he stretches out his arms, beckoning to me. “I have to go, so send me off properly.” Hugging him is like hugging my father or the brothers I’ll never see again. I don’t want to let him go, but the danger is too great for him to stay and we both know it. “Thank you, Mare,” he whispers in my ear. “You remind me so much of her.” I don’t need to ask to know he’s talking about Coriane, about the sister he lost so long ago. “I’ll miss you, little lightning girl.” Right now, the nickname doesn’t sound so bad.

His eyes fall to my shaking hands, and he covers them with his own, letting warmth bleed into my suddenly cold skin. “Mare?” “He shot me,” I whisper. “The Sentinel shot me. It’s my blood they found.” And then his hands are just as cold as mine. For all his clever ideas, Maven has nothing to say to this. He just stares, his breath coming in tiny, scared puffs. I know the look on his face; I wear it every time I’m forced to say good-bye to someone. “It’s too bad we didn’t stay longer,” I murmur, looking out at the river. “I would have liked to die close to home.” Another breeze sends a curtain of my hair across my face, but Maven brushes it away and pulls me close with startling ferocity. Oh. His kiss is not at all like his brother’s. Maven is more desperate, surprising himself as much as me. He knows I’m sinking fast, a stone dropping through the river. And he wants to drown with me.

Maven stares after his fleeing brother. “He does not like to lose. And”—he lowers his voice, now so close to me I can see the tiny flecks of silver in his eyes—“neither do I. I won’t lose you, Mare. I won’t.” “You’ll never lose me.” Another lie, and we both know it.

Tears prick at my eyes as I watch. There are more cracks and a few babies wail, but no one on the bank protests. Suddenly I’m at the edge of the deck, wanting to burst through the glass with every inch of myself. “Going somewhere, Mareena?” Elara purrs from her place next to the king. She sips placidly at a drink, surveying me over the rim of her glass. “Why are you doing this?” Arms crossed over her magnificent gown, Evangeline eyes me with a sneer. “Why do you care?” But her words fall on deaf ears. “They know what happened at the Hall, they might even agree with it, so they need to see that we aren’t defeated,” Cal murmurs, his eyes on the riverbank. He can’t even look at me, the coward. “We aren’t even bleeding.” Another whip cracks and I flinch, almost feeling the lash on my skin. “Did you order them to be beaten as well?”

Like everything else on the river, the factories fade away, but the image stays with me. I must not forget this, something tells me. I must not forget them.

But I have to try. If only for Gray Town, for the ones who have never seen the sun.

To my delight, Maven and I have a transport to ourselves, joined by only two Sentinels. He points out landmarks as we pass, explaining what seems like every statue and street corner. He even mentions his favorite bakery, though it sits on the other side of the river.

“Common Silvers?” I almost have to laugh. “There’s such a thing?” Maven just shrugs. “Of course. They’re merchants, businessmen, soldiers, officers, shop owners, politicians, land barons, artists, and intellectuals. Some marry into High Houses, some rise above their station, but they don’t have noble blood, and their abilities aren’t as, well, powerful.” Not everyone is special. Lucas told me that once. I didn’t know he meant Silvers too.

Julian’s gift sits against the wall, a firm reminder of another friend lost. It’s a piece of the giant map, framed and gleaming behind glass. When I pick it up, something thumps to the ground, falling from the back of the frame. I knew it. My heart races, beating wildly as I drop to my knees, hoping to find some secret note from Julian. But instead, there’s nothing more than a book.

There are more names, stretching over the last twenty years, all of them cremated or their bodies lost or “misplaced.” How anyone can misplace an executed man, I don’t know. The name at the end of the list makes my eyes water. Shade Barrow, Red soldier, Storm Legion, executed for desertion, body cremated. July 27, 320 NE.

According to military law, all Red soldiers are to be buried in the cemeteries of the Choke. Executed soldiers have no burials and lie in mass graves. Cremation is not common. Misplaced bodies are nonexistent.

All died on patrol, killed by Lakelanders or their own units, if not executed for charges without base. All were transferred to the Storm Legion weeks before dying. And all of their bodies were destroyed or lost in some way. Why? The Storm Legion is not a death squad—hundreds of Reds serve under General Eagrie without dying strangely. So why kill these 27?

And now I must apologize, Mare, for I have not been entirely honest with you. You trusted me to train you, to help you, and I did, but I was also helping myself. I am a curious man, and you are the most curious thing I have ever seen. I couldn’t help myself. I compared your blood sample to theirs, only to find an identical marker in them, different from all others. I’m not surprised no one noticed, because they were not looking for it. But now that I knew, it was easy to find. Your blood is red, but it is not the same. There is something new in you, something no one has seen before. And it was in 27 others. A mutation, a change that may be the key to everything you are.

I’ve seen who you really are, I want to scream. You’re not the gentle warrior, the perfect prince, or even the confused boy you pretend to be. As much as you try to fight it, you’re just like all of them.

With the rising sun on his face and shadow on his back, he seems torn between two worlds. In my heart, I know he is. The little part of me that still cares about him wants to close the distance between us, but I am not that foolish. I’m not a little lovesick girl.

“The Guard won’t stop,” I say softly, but I know he’s barely listening anymore. “And while they are certainly to blame, you are as well. There is blood on your hands, Prince.” And Maven’s. And mine. I leave him standing there, hoping I’ve changed him but knowing those odds are slim at best. He is his father’s son.

When we reach our next stop, an art gallery, I’m glad to be out of the public eye, until I see the paintings. The Silver artist uses two colors, silver and red, in a horrifying collection that makes me sick. Each painting is worse than the last, depicting Silver strength and Red weakness in every brushstroke. The last one depicts a gray-and-silver figure, quite like a ghost, and the crown on his brow bleeds crimson. It makes me want to put my head through a wall.

Cal might be born to rule, but Maven was meant for it. And Maven is willing to change the world for us, for the Reds he was raised to spit on.

Shade was like you. They knew about Shade and had to kill him, like they could not kill you. My heart aches for my fallen brother, for the conversations we might have had. For the future we might have forged.