18. Silver
18
S ILVER
|2 DAYS UNTIL THE ASSURANCE|
“So being a normal person involves a lot of walking, huh?” Mance says, picking her way over yet another log.
“Yes, Mance,” I say. “Normal people don’t summon magical horses to carry them places. They just walk around on their regular, mundane feet.”
She makes a face. “Does it always take this long?”
“Yes.”
Sticks crack beneath our feet as we tramp forward, and the forest feels restless around us. There are birds cawing, bugs buzzing, and larger animals prowling in the brush. Not to mention wind whipping, leaves rustling, and a creek gurgling somewhere in the distance.
I have yet to see a creek of any kind, by the way. But the gurgling has followed us all morning. It’s driving me crazy.
After climbing down from the crow’s nest this morning, I told Mance that members of my secret organization were waiting at my house, and that we could talk about next steps with them.
She agreed so easily that it makes me sick. Because, as she so straightforwardly informed me after nearly flinging herself to her death right in front of me, she trusts me.
Guilt washes over me again as the bracelet seems to catch every scrap of light that filters into the dappled forest, constantly drawing my attention back to it with each mocking glimmer.
Mance makes cheerful conversation as we walk, oblivious to my inner turmoil. I’m half listening, throwing in quips as necessary and shooting her smiles. But whenever she gets distracted by a birdcall or a pretty flower and turns away from me, my smile slides off my face.
He said he wouldn’t hurt her , I remind myself again. It will be fine.
And even if it won’t be… I’ll find a way to get us out. Escaping from impossible situations is my specialty, after all.
I should focus on the positive. When all this is done, I’ll finally have my papers. Plus a real home, the one thing I’ve been striving for since the day I was dumped on the Academy’s doorstep. Comfort, privacy, security, a future. It’s all within reach. And this guilt, these lies, whatever’s about to happen when we get to my house…
“It’ll all be over soon,” I say.
“What’s that?”
I didn’t realize I’d said the last part out loud, and I clear my throat. “The walk. Your anguish. It’ll all be over soon.”
Fortunately, that’s true. The trees start to thin, and the ground gets rockier. Spindly houses begin cropping up, and the crunching under my shoes tells me I’m close to home.
But Mance is a little less familiar with the sound. “What is this?” she asks, pulling up one foot and examining the glittering shards lodged in the heel of her boot. At least she wasn’t wearing slippers today. They probably weren’t intimidating enough to match her makeup.
“Uh, glass,” I tell her. “From the trees.” I wave distractedly at one of the jagged stumps a little ways down the road.
She puts her foot down and approaches it slowly, her expression clouded. Then she raises one hand to touch it.
“Careful,” I say, drawing her hand back. “I know you haven’t seen a lot of your grandfather’s trees broken, but they’re sharp when they’re shattered. Even sharper than regular glass.”
She startles at my touch, like I’ve interrupted some internal line of thought, but lets me pull her away, studying the stump at more of a distance. Its vicious points glint under her scrutiny. As I watch her survey the glass-packed earth, the dirty, ramshackle houses, and the rest of the twisted, broken stumps, I see the familiar sights through her eyes.
It’s wretched. All of it. I’ve known that for a long time, and I guess I got used to it, but seeing the look on Mance’s face…
It makes me feel like I’m wretched, too.
“I always thought the trees were so beautiful,” she says. “But… people live in this?”
My face burns, even though her tone isn’t judgmental. “Come on,” I say gruffly.
She’s quiet while we walk, still taking it all in. I keep my eyes on my boots, partly because it’s generally a good idea to watch where you step in this area, and partly because I can’t stand to see her expression anymore.
When I reach the hovel that’s ours, I genuinely consider walking right by it.
But I’ve come this far. It’s almost done. I just have to see it through.
“This one’s mine,” I say. “Shall we go up?” My smile’s back on, but it’s stiff.
She tilts her head back, peering up into the branches. Looking at the place where I lived before I met her. The life I had. And it feels like peeling off a scab.
“No stairs?” she asks.
“Too difficult for you?” There’s no bite in my goading, but I don’t know if she notices. She takes it as a challenge anyway and rolls up her sleeves.
I beat her to the top, easily, but she determinedly wrestles her way up after me, just like she did this morning. Soon I’m grabbing her forearm and helping her onto the porch, my heart in my throat. Even though I’m not looking at it, I can feel the doorway looming behind me, and I know nothing will be the same after we walk through it.
“You’ll want to take your shoes off,” I tell her. “And beat them against the wall. To, uh… knock out the glass.”
She steps out of her boots and into my house, then hits them against the outer wall once and sets them down. Once is probably not enough to dislodge what she’s stepped in, but I’m too humiliated at this point to tell her so.
I close the door behind us—quickly and loudly, like I’m trying to cut off my own doubt—and Vie and Rooftop emerge from the back room and approach us. I expel a breath at the sight of them safe.
But Guerre isn’t with them. That either means he isn’t here, which seems unlikely, or he’s waiting for the right moment, which worries me. I try to catch Vie’s eye to convey something like “run now, please,” but she breezes right by me.
“Hey, killer,” she greets Mance with a sneer.
Mance raises an eyebrow like she’s not sure whether the nickname is meant to be insulting or endearing.
“Hey, dead meat,” she shoots back. Vie laughs, and Mance visibly relaxes, but I’m not so sure the laugh is kind.
“Prospective Seconde Mancella,” Rooftop greets with overly formal, but still genuine, politeness. I try to catch his eye, too, but he’s watching Mance pick up one of my candles. I wince when she smooths an uneven part of the wax down with her thumb.
“You said your parents made candles,” she recalls. “Is this one of theirs?”
I can’t believe she bothered to remember that.
I rub the back of my neck with one hand. “Actually, uh… I made that one,” I tell her, distracted.
All my parents’ property was confiscated when they were enlisted, so I don’t have any of their original work. What she’s holding is my best attempt to re-create the scent I remember most. Some kind of citrus and some kind of spice. I’ve never been able to nail it down exactly.
She holds it to her nose and breathes in, her face softening. “I love it,” she says, and my chest tightens in response.
We don’t have time for this. I need to get everyone out of here before Guerre shows up, and then maybe we can prevent the whole thing.
“Listen—” I start, but Vie cuts me off.
“What do your candles usually smell like?” she asks. “Gold and peasant sweat?”
“Leave her alone, Vie,” I snap, annoyed.
She scoffs. “Oh no, did I hurt the tyrant’s feelings?”
“What’s your problem?” I seethe, and it comes out even more harshly than I meant it to because of how tense I still am. “We need to—”
The corner of Vie’s lip lifts in distaste as she cuts me off again. “Just don’t know why we’re playing with our food before we eat it, that’s all.”
My stomach drops.
“What?” Mance asks, looking at me. “What does that mean?”
“I…” I could kill Vie. Why does she have to be so rough and unsubtle? This is why I usually get the talking jobs. Of course, right now I can’t think of a single thing to say.
Mercifully, and also devastatingly, we are interrupted by the front door swinging open, and even though I know who it is, my throat still goes dry when I see him and feel our chances of a peaceful escape evaporating before my eyes.
Today Guerre is dressed in the full splendor of a nobleman, dripping with jewels and fine silks that make even Mance’s usual attire look simple. His bearing and demeanor are regal, too, and his hair is darker than I’ve ever seen it before.
Mance turns. Then she takes a step backward, clattering into our kitchen table.
“What… what are you doing here?” she gasps, her face paling.
She knows him , I realize with a start.
“Hello, Mancella,” Guerre says, voice soft.
She rocks on her heels, as if teetering just on the edge of disbelief, blinking repeatedly to test what her eyes are telling her. I hold my breath, although I don’t know what for.
She puts the candle down on the table.
Then she runs forward and flings herself into his arms.