وداع 1

FARE WELL

Maven

I would turn this horrid little room to ash if I could, but the Silent Stone is a poison and an anchor. I feel it working in me, spreading beneath my skin like black rot. My limbs ache, weighted down by the sensation. Everything feels wrong in me, my very nature denied. The flame is extinguished, or at least it is far beyond my reach.

This is what I did to her. It’s only fair they do it to me. She was kept in a different room, but I feel her here just the same. I almost smile at the thought of just punishment, of balancing my sins. But that would be impossible. There is no penance I can make to wash me clean. I am stained forever, impossible to redeem or cure. And it makes things easier. I can do what must be done to survive, without thought, without restraint. To make it all worth what I’ve done. Nothing is beyond possibility.

The two chairs in my lavish excuse for a cell are drawn together near the windows, facing each other as if prepared for a meeting. I sneer at them and lie flat on the long couch instead, enjoying the cool feel of golden silk beneath my skin. The salon is fine enough, a forgotten sitting room instead of the dungeon I deserve. Foolish Cal, trying to show me mercy—or show the rest of them how merciful he is, how different he is from me. He is as predictable as a sunrise.

I focus on the feel of the smooth fabric instead of the dead weight of Silent Stone, pressing down with every breath I take. The ceiling above me is molded plaster, sculpted into intricate shapes of wreathed flame. This part of the Ocean Hill palace is foreign to me. It was a favorite of Cal’s mother’s, and my father didn’t bring the court here much.

I wonder if I’ll live long enough to return to Whitefire. My fists clench at the thought of my brother invading my room there. Not because it’s mine by right, but because he’ll see too much of me in it. The smallness of my bedchamber, the emptiness of the one place I was ever alone. It feels like exposing a weakness to him—and Cal is just so good at taking advantage of weakness once he finds it. Usually it takes him quite a long time to do so, but I’ve made it easy for him. Maybe he’ll finally know what abyss there is in me, what a cliff I stand upon and throw myself off.

Or maybe he won’t see at all. Cal has always had a blind spot where I am concerned, for better or worse. He could just be the same shortsighted, bullheaded, honor-bound and over-proud dullard he’s always been. There’s a chance this war has not changed him or his ability to see me for what I am. A good chance.

I comfort myself with such thoughts—my idiot brother, the golden son blinded by his own light. It isn’t his fault, really. The Calores are warrior kings, the heirs raised to battle and blood. Not exactly a breeding ground for intelligence or intuition. And he didn’t have a mother watching over him to balance what our father wanted of a son. Not like me. Mother made sure I learned to fight beyond the battlefield, on a throne as well as in a sparring circle.

And look where you are now, at the end of it. Look where he is.

Snarling to myself, I sit up and seize the closest thing to me, then hurl it against the wall. Glass, water, and flowers smash, a momentary balm to the sting inside. No wonder Mare did this so much, I think, remembering how many times she threw her meals at the walls of her own cell. I throw the other decorative vase in the room for good measure, this time against the window. The glass pane doesn’t even crack, but I feel a bit better.

The relief doesn’t last. It never does. First I think of her, of Mother. Like always, her voice comes to me in silent moments, a whisper and a ghost. I’ve long since learned not to try to block her out, because it doesn’t work. In fact, that only makes her worse.

Lash for lash, she says to me, an echo of words spoken before her death. Cut for cut. If they’re going to hurt me, I must hurt them too. I must do worse.

If only she had better advice. I’m truly stuck, imprisoned by a brother with no choice but to execute me. And I see no way out of that fate. If it were just Cal’s decision, then yes, I would survive. I wouldn’t worry at all. Even now, he doesn’t have the spine to kill me. But he has the crown again, and a kingdom to convince. He can’t show weakness, especially with me. What’s more, I don’t deserve his mercy. But I shall do as my mother says. I’ll hurt him as much as I can, as deeply as possible, before my time is ended. It will be some small consolation to know he bleeds as I bleed.

And Mare too. There are still wounds in her, wounds I made, that can always be cut open. They say animals are most dangerous at their end, fiercer and more violent. I will be the same, if I manage to see her before my sentence is carried out. I desperately hope I do.

Iris didn’t speak about her gods often, and I didn’t ask. But I did some research of my own. She believes in a place beyond death, somewhere we go in the afterward. At first, I wanted to believe it too. It would mean seeing my mother again—and seeing Thomas. But Iris’s afterlife is split in two, separated into paradise and punishment. Certainly I have earned the latter.

And Thomas, my dear Thomas, certainly did not.

If there is something after death, it will not be for both of us.

I return to what I’ve always known, the burden I’ve carried with me, the end always waiting. I will never see him again. Not even in my dreams.

My mother gave me so much, but she took in return. In an attempt to rid me of my nightmares, she took my dreams. Sometimes, I prefer it. But right now, in this room, I wish I could sleep and escape, and see his face one more time. Feel what I felt with him one more time. Instead of this corrupted anger, a tangle of pain and rage that threatens to split me open every time I think of him and his body, burned beyond recognition, burned by my own damned fingers.

I wonder if I mourn him so much because I do not know what could have been, what he could have made me. Or is it because my mother never corrupted what I felt for him? Not while he lived, at least. She certainly tried later, when his memory destroyed my days. She did the same with Mare, pulling at every new burst of feeling like a gardener ripping out weeds at the root.

But even Mare doesn’t tear me apart like he still does. Even she doesn’t make me bleed like this.

Only one person living still can. And I’ll have to face him soon.

I lie back down again, hissing out a breath. I’ll make him bleed as I bleed.

I’m still lying down, an arm over my eyes, when the door opens and shuts, accompanied by heavy footfalls. I don’t need to look to know who it is. His breathing, ragged and so boorishly loud, is enough.

“If you’re looking for absolution, I think Iris has a silly little shrine somewhere in her rooms. Bother her gods instead of me,” I grumble.

I don’t look at him, keeping my eyes resolutely shut. Looking at him makes me burn with rage and jealousy. And anguish too, for what he was, the brother I no longer have the ability to love. I would incinerate my clothes if not for the Silent Stone. What’s more, he is a betrayer as much as I am, but no one seems to mind. It isn’t fair.

“Absolution?” Cal scoffs from somewhere above me. I don’t hear him sit. “It’s you who needs it, Maven. Not me.” Sneering, I draw the arm away from my eyes and sit up to look at him fully. My brother recoils under my gaze, taking a step backward across the floor. He looks kingly, even without a crown. More kingly than I ever could. Envy ripples through me again.

“You and I both know you don’t believe that,” I snap. “Do you, Brother? Do you truly think you are without any blame?” Cal drops his eyes, his resolve wavering for a second. Then he grits his teeth, all fire again. “It was your mother, Maven. Not me,” he forces out. I get the sense he’s told himself this more than once. “I didn’t kill him.” I wave a hand through the air, dismissive. “Oh, I hardly care about what happened to Father. Though I’m certain you’ll be haunted by that for the rest of your life, however short.” Again, he looks away. You are so easy to read it’s almost infuriating, I think.

“I’m talking about me,” I growl, setting the pieces in motion. Confusion steals across his face, and I almost roll my eyes. Cal has to be led to the point like a dumb mule to water.

Cut for cut, Mother whispers.

“I wasn’t always this way, was I?” I continue, pushing myself to my feet. He’s taller than me, always has been, and it stings. Still, I take a step toward him, eagerly moving into his shadow. I’m used to it there. “You remember better than I do. When I was a boy, your little brother. Always trailing at your heels, eager to spend every moment I could with you. I used to ask to sleep in your room, didn’t I?” Cal narrows his eyes. “You were afraid of the dark.”

“And then I wasn’t. Just like that.” I snap my fingers, expecting him to flinch. He does not. “Her doing, of course. She couldn’t be the mother to a whimpering, weakling son afraid of shadows.” I begin to pace, circling him. Cal doesn’t give me the satisfaction of movement, staying rooted to the spot. He doesn’t fear a physical attack from me. Even without his flame, he would have no issue subduing me. I’m little more than a moth fluttering around light. Or at least, that’s how he sees me. It’s an advantage I’ve used so many times. “You never noticed when she took things from me, small pieces. You didn’t see the change.” As I pass behind him, his shoulders curl, riddled with tension. “That isn’t my fault, Maven,” he whispers, his voice ragged. He doesn’t believe it. So fucking easy to read. I almost laugh. It isn’t difficult to make him bleed.

“So when she cut you out entirely, took my love for you, twisted everything—you didn’t notice. You didn’t care.” I pause in my steps, leaving us side by side. He has to turn his head to look at me, to watch as I school my face into careful blankness. “I’ve always wondered why.” Cal has no answer, or can’t find the strength to speak. I’m better at pain than he is. I always have been.

“It doesn’t matter now, of course,” I say. “My mother wasn’t the only one who took from me—you took something from me too.” Even the hint of her makes him bristle.

“I didn’t take Mare,” he snarls, rounding on me. I shift before he can grab my arm, his fingers barely brushing the sleeve of my jacket.

I grin up at him, speaking gently, my voice soft and taunting. “It didn’t surprise me. You were used to it, having whatever you wanted. Seeing only what you wanted to see. In the end, I realized you knew what was happening to me, what Mother was doing. It was in pieces, in slow shifts, but you still saw it—and you did nothing to stop her.” Tsking like a scolding teacher, I shake my head. “Long before you knew what a monster I was, you did monstrous things too.” Cal stares at me, eyes full of accusation. And longing. This time he takes me by surprise when he steps closer, and I fall back on my heels. “Did your mother destroy you entirely? Is there anything left of you?” he asks, searching my face. “Anything that isn’t hers?” He won’t tell me what he’s looking for, but I know. Despite the walls my mother built around me, Cal always manages to weasel through. His hunting eyes fill me with sorrow. Even now, he thinks there’s something in me left to save—and to mourn. There is no escaping our fate, not for either of us. He must sentence me to die. And I must accept death. But Cal wants to know if he’s killing his brother along with the monster—or if the brother died long ago.

Cut for cut, my mother whispers, louder now, taunting. The words slice like a razor.

It would hurt him deeply, wound him forever, if I let him glimpse what little is left of me. That I’m still here, in some forgotten corner, just waiting to be found. I could ruin him with one glance, one echo of the brother he remembers. Or I could free him of me. Make the choice for him. Give my brother one last proof of the love I can no longer feel, even if he never knows it.

I weigh the choice in my heart, each side heavy and impossible. For one terrifying moment, I don’t know what to do.

Despite all my mother’s fine work, I can’t find it in myself to land that final blow.

I drop my gaze, forcing a detached smirk to my lips.

“I would do it all again, Cal,” I tell him, lying with such grace. It feels easy, after so many years behind a mask. “If given the choice to go back, I would let her change me. I would watch you kill him. I’d send you to the arena. And I’d get it right. I’d give you what you deserve. I’d kill you now if I could. I’d do it a thousand times.” My brother is simple, easy to manipulate. He sees only what lies in front of him, only what he can understand. The lie does its job well. His eyes harden, that undying ember in him almost extinguished entirely. One hand twitches, wanting to form a fist. But the Silent Stone affects him too, and even if he had the strength to make me burn, he could not.

“Good-bye, Maven,” Cal says, his voice broken. He isn’t really speaking to me.

The farewell is for another boy, lost years ago, before he became what I am now. Cal lets go of him, the Maven I was. The Maven I still am, somewhere inside, unable or unwilling to step into the light.

This will be the last time we speak to each other alone. I can feel that in my marrow. If I see him again, it will be before the throne, or beneath the cold steel of the executioner’s blade.

“I look forward to the sentencing,” I drawl in reply, watching him flee the room. The door slams behind him, shaking paintings in their frames.

Despite all the difference between us, we have this in common. We use our pain to destroy.

“Good-bye, Cal,” I say to no one.

Weakness, my mother answers.