“We’ll send them east and to the south to bolster our forces there,” Eimarille said, pitching her voice loud enough to be heard over the noise of the factory.
The officer to her left nodded agreement. “We’ll aim to retake Foxborough from the Clockwork Brigade. Of the options we have discussed with you, how do you wish to handle E’ridia?”
“I’ve expelled their ambassador after the attack they perpetuated on Foxborough and made it clear that any future aid given to the rebellion in Ashion will be seen as an act of war. For now, we can hold off on any outreach, good or bad. The Eastern Spine is a border that will need a particular plan to overcome, and the climbers aren’t scheduled for production until later this year.”
They needed to get Ashion under control first before she could focus on E’ridia, and that country was secondary to dealing with Solaria. The Legion was heading to their northern border, and Joelle had requested Daijalan support in defense of hervasilyet, support which Eimarille was more than happy to provide as a first test of her country’s new war machines. The death-defying machine was still churning out the dead by the hundreds, and Kote knew best where the revenants would do the most damage.
Eimarille had a plan for Maricol’s future, and she would be damned if some purported long-lost siblings ruined it for her.
Two
CARIS
Caris smoothed down the front of her lilac day jacket, the soft material and delicate embroidery catching on her roughened hands. She licked her lips, trying to ignore the uncomfortable twist in her stomach. Nerves, she knew, though she was doing her best to overcome them.
Pretend it’s like a classroom presentation or a patent argument.
The mental cajoling did little to dampen the fast beating of her heart. It wasn’t every day the national press descended on a small town, ready to report on the declaration of an Ashion queen. For so long, only Eimarille had ever claimed that mantle. Yet here Caris was, seeking to grasp headlines of her own, for a truth that still felt too much like a lie.
Staring at herself in the floor-length mirror in her borrowed bedroom in the Auclair bloodline’s ancestral estate, she didn’tfeellike a Rourke. Caris couldn’t say she looked like a Rourke despite the historical portraits Meleri had unearthed from somewhere that depicted the Rourke bloodlines through the years. Where she had kept them hidden was a secret not even Dureau knew, and Meleri had declined to share.
The portraits were being displayed at Veran’s city hall, where Caris was expected in less than an hour’s time, according to her pocket watch. Dureau had already rang the estate with the news the entire civic plaza was filled to bursting with reporters and spectators.
All that was missing was Caris.
She flattened her hand over her stomach and turned away from the mirror. No sense in trying to find the face of a dead woman in her reflection. Queen Ophelia might have been her birth mother, but everything that made Caris who she was today came from Portia and Emmitt. The thought of giving up the Dhemlan bloodline and name when her parents were essentially prisoners of war left her feeling ill. But being a Dhemlan wouldn’t save them.
Being a Rourke might.
Someone knocked on her door, drawing Caris out of her swirling thoughts. She cleared her throat before answering. “Come in.”
The door was pushed open, and Nathaniel stepped inside, dressed in a dark blue day jacket and trousers, a white button-down shirt, and a lilac waistcoat that matched the shade of her own clothes. His collar was done up to his throat, cravat neatly tied, no hint of skin or the vivisection scars he carried visible. His hair was tied back in a queue, boots polished to a shine. He looked every inch a respectable member of society and not a cog.
“The motor carriages are out front. Are you ready?” Nathaniel asked.
Caris nervously tugged on a curl, her own hair loose and nearly brushing her shoulders. She’d not bothered with any adornments, refusing the tiara Meleri had offered to let her borrow. “I suppose so.”
Nathaniel let the door close gently behind him. It was terrible manners to be alone with him, out of sight of any chaperones, but propriety wasn’t anyone’s concern these days. The Daijal army was moving east with a relentlessness the broadsheets reported on with screaming headlines every morning.
It had been five days since the Ashion army had overtaken Foxborough with the help of E’ridia’s air force and wardens. While casualties were low, people had still died from the bombs and bullets, and the Clockwork Brigade and wardens had carried much of that blame in the Daijalan press. Those broadsheets also refused to report on the attack which devastated the Warden’s Island, but theydidreport on how the wardens had unilaterally pulled their support from Daijal.
Eimarille and her press had deftly spun a tale of wardens unable to do their duty, so was it any wonder their island had been attacked out of retribution for lost Daijalan lives?
E’ridia had fared no better in that regard, with the Daijalan press labeling their collaboration with the Clockwork Brigade as clear evidence of sovereign interference. E’ridia had yet to respond to the accusations, safe behind the Eastern Spine for now. Their reason for dropping bombs on Foxborough’s outer-city wall was still in the hospital, from what Honovi had told Caris on a private call last night.
Blaine was alive. That had to count for something, despite everything that had happened. Meleri believed so, if only because Blaine was the only person who could stand as witness to Caris’ claim to the Rourke bloodline. But he wasn’t here, and she’d have to pretend she was queen on her own.
Fingers stroked down her cheek, startling her. Caris jerked her head back, blinking up at Nathaniel. He smiled at her, eyes a little sad. “What are you worrying about?”
“If I said everything, would you think less of me?”
“Never.” Nathaniel reached for her hand and brought it to his lips to brush a kiss over her knuckles. The touch sent a shiver down her spine, and Caris tightened her fingers around his own. “That’s a trait which will make you a good queen. It shows you care.”
Caris smiled wanly at him, a twist to her lips he gently kissed away. She let him, parting her lips to accept the taste of him in her mouth. She knew those that were aware of Nathaniel’s plight didn’t view him asaliveanymore, not with a clockwork metal heart beating in his chest. She’d seen the way Meleri had looked at him, all reserved politeness. She knew, too, how Meleri had excised him from the chains he’d held to save the Clockwork Brigade from further damage. Nathaniel walked beside Caris by the grace of magic and alchemy, a ticking time bomb no one could trust with sensitive information anymore.
Nathaniel was no longer a cog, and Caris was to be queen, and neither of them was what they’d meant to be in the end. But he cared for her, and she for him, and Caris wasn’t walking this road without him.
He broke the kiss, and Caris licked her lips, opening her eyes. Nathaniel let go of her hand so he could offer her his elbow. “You’ll do brilliantly. The duchess says you were born for this.”
