Dane Davidson, Red soldier, Storm Legion, killed on routine patrol, body never recovered. August 1, 296 NE. Jane Barbaro, Red soldier, Storm Legion, killed by friendly fire, body cremated. November 19, 297 NE. Pace Gardner, Red soldier, Storm Legion, executed for insubordination, body misplaced. June 4, 300 NE. 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.
Julian's own words follow my brother's name, and I feel like he's next to me again, slowly and calmly teaching his lesson.
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. And yet I found 27 names, 27 soldiers, your brother included, who suffered these fates.
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?
For once, I was glad for the bloodbase. Even though they are long "dead," their blood samples still remain. 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.
You are not the only one, Mare. You are not alone. You are simply the first protected by the eyes of a thousand, the first they could not kill and hide away. Like the others, you are Red and Silver, and stronger than both.
I think you are the future. I think you are the new dawn.
And if there were 27 before, there must be others. There must be more.
I feel frozen; I feel numb; I feel everything and nothing. Others like me.
Using the mutations in your blood, I searched the rest of the bloodbase, finding the same in other samples. I have included them all here, for you to pass on.
I know I don't need to tell you the importance of this list, of what it could mean to you and the rest of this world. Pass it on to someone you trust, find the others, protect them, train them, for it is only a matter of time before someone less friendly discovers what I have-and hunts them down.
His words end there, followed by a list that makes my fingers tremble. There are names and locations, so many of them, all waiting to be found. All waiting to fight.
My mind feels like it's on fire. Others. More. Julian's words swim across my eyes, searing into my soul.
Stronger than both.
The little book sits snugly in my jacket, tucked in next to my heart. But before I can go to Maven, to show him Julian's discovery, Cal finds me. He corners me in a sitting room quite like the one we danced in, though the moon and the music are long gone. Once I wanted everything he could give me, and now the sight of him turns my stomach. He can see the revulsion in my face, as much as I try to hide it.
"You're angry with me," he says. It's not a question.
"I'm not."
"Don't lie," he growls, eyes suddenly on fire. I've been lying since the day we met. "Three days ago you kissed me, and now you can't even look at me."
"I'm betrothed to your brother," I tell him, pulling away.
He dismisses the point with the wave of a hand. "That didn't stop you before. What's changed?"
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.
"Is this about the terrorists?"
My teeth grit together painfully. "Rebels."
"They murdered people, children, innocents."
"You and I both know that wasn't their fault," I spit back, not bothering to care how cruel the words are. Cal flinches, stunned for a moment. He almost looks sick as he remembers the Sun Shooting-and the accidental explosion that followed. But it passes, slowly replaced by anger.
"But they caused it all the same," he growls. "What I ordered the Sentinel to do, was for the dead, for justice."
"And what did torture get you? Do you know their names, how many there are? Do you even know what they want? Have you even bothered to listen?"
He heaves a sigh, trying to salvage the conversation. "I know you have your own reasons for-for sympathizing, but their methods cannot be-"
"Their methods are your own fault. You make us work, you make us bleed, you make us die for your wars and factories and the little comforts you don't even notice, all because we are different. How can you expect us to let that stand?"
Cal fidgets, a muscle in his cheek twitching. He has no answer to that.
"The only reason I'm not dead in a trench somewhere is because you pitied me. The only reason you're even listening to me now is because, by some insane miracle, I happen to be another kind of different."
Lazily, my sparks rise in my hands. I can't imagine going back to life before my body hummed with power, but I can certainly remember it.
"You can stop this, Cal. You will be king, and you can stop this war, you can save thousands, millions, from generations of glorified slavery, if you say enough."
Something breaks in Cal, quenching the fire he tries so hard to hide. He crosses to the window, hands clasped behind his back. 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.
"I thought that once," he mutters. "But it would lead to rebellion on both sides, and I will not be the king who ruins this country. This is my legacy, my father's legacy, and I have a duty to it." A slow heat rumbles from him, steaming the glass window. "Would you trade a million deaths for what they want?"
A million deaths. My mind flashes back to Belicos Lerolan's corpse, with his dead children at his side. And then other faces join the dead-Shade, Kilorn's father, every Red soldier who died for their war.
"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.
"Julian's disappeared, hasn't he?" he calls out to me, stopping me in my tracks.
I turn slowly, mulling over what I can possibly say. I decide to play dumb. "Disappeared?"
"The escape left holes in the memories of many Sentinels, as well as the video logs. My uncle does not use his abilities often, but I know the signs."
"You think he helped them escape?"
"I do," he says painfully, looking at his hands. "That's why I gave him enough time to slip away."
"You did what?" I can't believe my ears. Cal, the soldier, the one who always follows orders, breaking the rules for Julian.
"He's my uncle, I did what I could for him. How heartless do you think I am?" He smirks sadly at me, not waiting for an answer. It makes me ache. "I delayed the arrest as long as I could, but everyone leaves tracks, and the queen will find him," he sighs, putting a hand against the glass. "And he'll be executed."
"You'd do that to your uncle?" I don't bother to hide my disgust, or the fear beneath. If he'll kill Julian, even after letting him go, what will he do to me when I'm found out?
Cal's shoulders tighten as he straightens, morphing back into the soldier. He will hear no more of Julian or the Scarlet Guard.
"Maven had an interesting proposition."
That was unexpected. "Oh?"
He nods, oddly annoyed at the thought of his brother. "Mavey's always been a quick thinker. He got that from his mother."
"Is that supposed to scare me?" I know better than any that Maven is nothing like his mother, or any other damned Silver. "What are you trying to say, Cal?"
"You're in the open now," he blurts out. "After your speech, the entire country knows your name and face. And so more will wonder who and what you are."
I can only scowl and shrug. "Maybe you should've thought of that before you made me read that disgusting speech."
"I'm a soldier, not a politician. You know I had nothing to do with the Measures."
"But you'll follow them. You'll follow them without question."
He doesn't argue that. For all his faults, Cal won't lie to me. Not now. "All records of you have been removed. Officers, archivists, no one will ever find proof you were born Red," he murmurs, eyes on the floor. "That is what Maven proposed."
Despite my anger, I gasp aloud. The bloodbase. The records. "What does that mean?" I don't have the strength to keep my voice from shaking.
"Your school record, birth certificate, blood prints, even your ID card have been destroyed." I barely hear him over the sound of my hammering heartbeat.
Once, I would have hugged him outright. But I must remain still. I must not let Cal know he has saved me again. No, not Cal. This was Maven's doing. This was the shadow controlling the flame.
"That sounds like the right thing to do," I say aloud, trying to sound uninterested.
But my act can only last so long. After one stiff bow in Cal's direction, I hurry from the room, hiding my wild grin.
TWENTY-FOUR.
I spend much of the next day exploring, though my mind is somewhere else. Whitefire is older than the Hall, its walls made of stone and carved wood rather than diamondglass. I doubt I'll ever learn the layout of the whole thing, as it holds not just the royal residence but many administrative offices and chambers, ballrooms, a full training court, and other things I don't understand. I guess that's why it takes the secretary nearly a half hour to find me, wandering through a gallery of statues. But I won't have more time to explore. I have duties to fulfill.
Duties, according to the king's chatting secretary, that apply to a whole range of evils beyond just reading the Measures. As a future princess, I must meet the people in arranged outings, making speeches and shaking hands and standing by Maven's side. The last part doesn't really bother me, but being put on parade like a goat at auction isn't exactly exciting.
I join Maven in a transport, headed for the first appearance. I'm itching to tell him about the list and thank him for the bloodbase, but there are too many eyes and ears.
The majority of the day speeds by in a blur of noise and color as we tour different parts of the capital. The Bridge Market reminds me of Grand Garden, though it's three times the size. In the single hour we spend greeting children and shopkeepers, I see the Silvers assault or aggravate dozens of Red servants, all trying to do their jobs. Security keeps them from all-out abuse, but the words they sling are almost as hurtful. Child killers, animals, devils. Maven keeps his grip tight on my hand, squeezing every time a Red is knocked to the ground. 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.
The plaza outside the gallery is noisy, bustling with city life. Many stop to stare, gawking at us as we head for our transport. Maven waves with a practiced smile, causing the crowd to cheer his name. He's good at this; after all, these people are his birthright. When he stoops to speak with a few children, his smile brightens. 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.
I surreptitiously touch the list in my pocket, thinking of the ones who can help Maven and me change the world. Are they like me, or are they as varied as the Silvers? 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.
But Shade is dead, and there are others who need my help.
"We need to find Farley," I whisper in Maven's ear, barely audible to myself. But he hears me and raises an eyebrow in silent question. "I have to give her something."
"I have no doubt she'll find us," he mutters back, "if she isn't watching already."
"How-?"
Farley, spying on us? Inside a city that wants her torn apart? It seems impossible. But then I notice the Silver crowd pressing in, and the Red servants beyond. A few linger to watch us, their arms banded with red. Any one of them could work for Farley. They all could. Even with the Sentinels and Security all around, she's still with us.
Now the question becomes finding the right Red, saying the right thing, finding the right place, and doing it all without anyone noticing the prince and his future princess communicating with a wanted terrorist.
This isn't like the crowds at home, the ones I could move through so easily. Now I stand out, a future princess surrounded by guards, with a rebellion resting on her shoulders. And maybe even something more important, I think, remembering the list of names in my jacket.
When the crowd pushes in, craning to look at us, I take my chance and slip away. The Sentinels bunch around Maven, still not used to guarding me as well, and with a few quick turns, I'm out of the circle of guards and onlookers. They continue across the plaza without me, and if Maven notices I'm gone, he doesn't stop them.
The Red servants don't acknowledge me, their heads down as they buzz between shops. They keep to alleys and shadows, trying to stay out of sight. I'm so busy searching the Red faces that I don't notice the one at my elbow.
"My lady, you dropped this," the little boy says. He's probably ten years old, with one arm banded with red. "My lady?"
Then I notice the scrap he holds out. It's nothing, just a twisted bit of paper I don't remember having. Still, I smile for the boy and take it from him. "Thank you very much."
He grins at me, smiling as only a child can, before bounding away into an alley. He bounces with every step. Life has not dragged him down yet.
"This way, Lady Titanos." A Sentinel stands over me, watching with flat eyes. So much for that plan. I let him lead me back to the transport, feeling suddenly dejected. I can't even sneak away like I used to. I'm getting soft.
"What was that all about?" Maven wonders as I slide back into the transport.
"Nothing," I sigh, casting a glance out the window as we pull away from the plaza. "Thought I saw someone."
We're around a bend in the street before I even think to look at the little paper. I unfold it in my lap, hiding the scrap in the folds of my sleeve. There are words scrawled across the slip, so small I can barely read them.
Hexaprin Theater. Afternoon play. The best seats.
It takes me a moment to realize I only understand half those words, but that doesn't matter at all. Smiling, I press the message into Maven's hand.
Maven's request is all it takes to get us into the theater. It's small but very grand, with a green domed roof crowned by a black swan. It's a place of entertainment, showing plays or concerts or even some archive films on special occasions. A play, as Maven tells me, is when people, actors, perform a story on a stage. Back home we didn't have time for bedtime fairy tales, let alone stages and actors and costumes.
Before I know it, we're sitting on a closed balcony above the stage. The seats below us teem with people, many of them children, all of them Silver. A few Reds rove between the rows and aisles, serving drinks or taking tickets, but none sit down. This is not a luxury they can afford. Meanwhile, we sit on velvet chairs with the best view, with the secretary and the Sentinels standing just beyond our curtained door.
When the theater darkens, Maven throws an arm across my shoulders, pulling me so close I can feel his heartbeat. He smirks at the secretary, now peeking between the curtains. "Don't disturb us," he drawls, and he pulls my face to his.
The door clicks behind us, locking shut, but neither of us pulls away. A minute or an hour passes, which I don't know, until voices onstage bring me back to reality. "Sorry," I mutter to Maven, standing up out of my chair in an effort to put some distance between us. There's no time for kissing now, no matter how much I might want to. He only smirks, watching me instead of the play. I do my best to look elsewhere, but something always draws my eyes back to him.
"What do we do now?"
He laughs to himself, eyes glinting mischievously.
"That's not what I meant." But I can't help but smirk with him.
"Cal cornered me earlier."
Maven's lips purse, tightening at the thought. "And?"