Chapter Text
Mother never liked fairytales. Especially those I caught from Coriane. Her enemy eternal, the neighbor she couldn’t shake, the mother of her son’s bastard brother. I made the mistake of swiping one from her brother's collection, certain she'd applaud my swift hands and smuggler's eye.
She threw it into the river.
“Silvers have no need for fairytales.” She’d polished a dish as though it were a blade. “We have our history.”
A history that would’ve seen her winner of Queenstrial, disposed of Coriane before she could bear a son, and kept Tiberias alive long enough for her to rule through him. A history long tarnished by Newblood reign, by war waged ever since the first Titanos took the throne. The Calores had fled. The Lakelands did not.
When you are king, you may not flee. Mother’s words had flown from ink to paper, the journal I kept my most regal of notes. Nor shall you make a fool of yourself on the battlefield. Your blade will be wit, your shield careful lies, all powers balanced to bicker in your favor .
“Maven Merandus.”
I jolt, tilting my chin so I can pretend it was deliberate. “Yes?”
The teacher sighs, palm to her forehead. Behind her, the map of Norta is unfurled, black lines marking where the Lakelands have gained territory the past few months. My classmates jitter, vultures pecking at a wound. Swine, Mother hisses. Who think us Silvers long lost.
“The question was on the Blood Revolution.” She taps the map. “When did the mutations begin?”
I straighten. “150 years ago.”
“Incorrect.” She sighs. “Kilorn?”
“250.” His voice rings from across the room, smug as a worm watching an enemy writhe in the sand. “It took a hundred years for them to gather their numbers, years of hiding from Silvers who wished to snuff them out.”
Eyes flicker to me, to the veins glistening beneath my skin. Mother had spoken of the uprising as though it were instant, a wave of faceless monsters burying our ancestors. There was nothing clever in their tactics, no secrets to be kept. Nothing we did to provoke their assault.
“Correct.” Her eyes beam with pride, an orphan once illiterate now a star student. I used to be her favorite. Used to be the one with all the answers, Mother’s voice propelling me to study harder than anyone else. Kilorn didn’t care about this, not the way I did. He didn’t have a legacy to uphold.
My stomach growls.
A few laughs rise from behind me, and I stiffen. They would never insult me directly, not when my last name implied I could crush their minds to dust. Still, they jitter and jab, poking softly enough I couldn’t risk revealing my true ability. That my last name was Calore instead of Merandus.
The teacher doesn’t comment, scanning the room for another student to interrogate. I return to my notebook, tracing Mother’s words until the page threatens to tear. It was a gift from Coriane. For stories, she’d whispered. I know you love to write.
My pride chafes. She must’ve seen my last two notebooks, smuggled from the school closet in between classes. They weren’t expensive, but I was loath to ask anything of Mother when she already worked so hard.
When I am king, Mother shall never be forced to labor. The words burn, a confession worse than any of Coriane’s charities. Her time shall be spent securing our court, cordial conversations over poisoned tea.
“Maven.” Kilorn taps the desk, impatient. “The bell rang.”
I slam the notebook shut before he can glimpse inside, tucking it under my arm with a practiced nonchalance. Cal is waiting outside, and Kilorn runs to hug him. Something twists in my chest as he calls him brother . Something with less dignity than my shoulders, stiff and unyielding as I wait on the sidelines. We share blood, but little else.
It’s better that way.
“How was school?” Cal pats me on the back and I grimace. “Better than yesterday?”
I scoff. “Same old, same old.”
Kilorn has gone quiet, staring in the other direction as though I might disappear. Coriane’s adopted son, taken in from the streets after he and her son became close friends. He doesn’t dare needle me with Cal so close, not when he was so insistent we get along. A futile exercise. When I was king, Kilorn would be tossed in the dungeons.
Cal shrugs. "At least it's not worse."
I scowl, but say nothing. We walk past metal poles in silence, buildings suspended in the air to protect them from the floods. The Stilts , it was named, a common term for a common people. One unbefitting my station.
“You should come over.” A nudge of my shoulder to Cal’s grinning face. “I made something new in the garage.”
I scoff. My brother nuisance had no business collecting so much scrap metal, let alone tinkering it to monstrosities. The worst was a set of bracelets he called flamemakers, a crude twist of metal which sent up sparks for him to turn to flame. Not that he could use it. Silver Burners had been hunted down due to their affiliation with the Calores. "What is it this time?"
"You'll see." Cal laughs, an infuriating chime. “I’m thinking of volunteering it.”
I pause. Cal was always chattering on about the war effort and his need to pitch in, much to the chagrin of Coriane. Every new invention became an argument, every announcement an opportunity to clash. So far, she had gotten her way. But she couldn’t keep him safe forever.
“When you finally enlist, do us both a favor and pretend you don’t know me.” I sniff. “I don’t need my head rolling in a broadcast.”
Cal winces. “Do you have to joke about Father so much?”
“You mean the sperm donor?”
He shakes his head. “You should learn more than what your mother tells you, Maven.”
I chafe, running ahead. He could catch me if he wanted to, but he knows better than to push me about Mother. The trust between us was already so fragile.
My home lies on the outskirts of town, suspended next to Julian and Coriane’s. The outside is shoddy even by Stilts standards, propped by the meager income I manage to steal in bars. Mother has always had difficulty with work.
A cop loiters on the ground and my stomach sinks. He narrows his eyes. “Hey kid! You live here?”
I nod, and he rolls his eyes. “Get to the sheriff’s office. Your guardian is in custody.”
My heart skips a beat. “Did she–?”
“Hell if I know. Get in the transport, kid. You have some explaining to do.”
I slide in, barely breathing. When I was little more than a babe, Mother attempted to whisper to some of the Newbloods of Archeon. Had she been trained as she deserved, it would’ve been no trouble, but her ability was wild and untamed. She was caught and detained for thirty days, a story that grew grander each time she retold it. I could've ripped their minds to shreds if I wanted to. I could've gone down in a blaze of fiery glory, slaying dozens of newblood swine before some coward shot me in the heart. But I didn't. I knew that if I died that day, you would be completely alone. So I endured. I swallowed the humiliation, the indignity, the insult because I knew we would rule, side by side, and pay them back a thousand times.
It was Coriane and Julian’s singing which got her out. Softened the charge to Reds instead of Newbloods, a nuisance instead of treason. They couldn’t afford to take me in. Couldn’t bear to see another orphan on the street.
Somehow, I don’t think they’ll have the goodwill to do it again.