The Beasts We Bury (The Broken Citadel #1)

27. Prime Apparent Mancella Amaryllis Cliff

|THE NIGHT BEFORE ASSURANCE|

That evening, Prime Azele and her bodyguard both arrive for dinner, on my invitation. Our usual dining room is currently out of commission, what with the explosion and all, so I had to relocate the meeting to another venue.

I lead them into the arena.

Or, well, that’s what we used to call it.

It has been transformed. Everyone on the serving staff deserves a raise, and they’ll get one. Where this morning there were bare floors marred by claw marks and dark splatters, there are now ornate rugs in tones of gold and blue. The windows are unboarded and opened wide, to a breathtaking view of the surrounding mountains that I never knew was there. The giant cage is draped with curtains, making the whole space feel softer and more intimate. They even found and rehung the chandelier, a grand and glorious piece, dripping with crystals, that gives the whole room a soft glow.

Of course, I know the cage is still there, just beneath the rich fabric. In the same way that the bloodstains remain just beneath the soft, colorful rugs.

I can’t undo what my father did, but I can choose what I build upon it. I can seek redemption. Standing here in a place restored to its proper purpose, I feel my own sense of purpose settle upon me, just as the corsetless dress I’ve chosen settles around my body in a way that armor never could.

Dinner goes well. At least, it’s significantly less confrontational than the last meal Prime Azele joined me for.

Of course, I have help. Silver has reprised his role as servant for one last evening, and he keeps slipping me notes of encouragement. Sometimes he adds a thought or two about Azele’s body language and how he thinks she might be taking my statements. If Rift notices that Silver is the same person who showed him the letters, he doesn’t call his Prime’s attention to it.

But the conversation doesn’t need too much push. There’s a reason Prime Azele tried a parley first. It’s the same reason she sent one bodyguard instead of a battalion. She wants to avoid war as much as I do.

Negotiations wind down by dessert, which is pistachio cream puffs. They were made by Rooftop, who has just taken a job on my kitchen staff, and they look delicious. I notice one missing on the plate Silver carries out to me and shoot him a dry look. He grins at me with full cheeks.

“Are we in agreement, then?” Prime Azele asks as she swallows the last of her pastries. Her expression and tone are appropriately regal but tinged with a decided edge of hope.

“Almost,” I say. “There’s one more thing I would ask. But to be honest it’s more of a personal favor than anything else.”

An hour later, in more practical attire, Prime Azele joins me on a walk through the Outskirts, glass crunching beneath our boots.

“I thought this was an odd request,” she says. “But I see now why you asked. And I take it as proof that you are sincere in your wish for peace.”

We stop by a jagged stump, and she lays her hand on it. Beneath her touch, the sharp edges disintegrate into harmless ash.

“You’ll have to do something about the shards in the dirt, though,” she muses. “I can’t find and touch every single one.”

“I know,” I say. “It will take time. But uprooting the main cause is the first step. We’ll figure out how to deal with the shards left behind after that.”

She nods. “One thing I have learned is that ash makes excellent fertilizer.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. Once you’ve burned everything down, it’s the perfect time to help new things grow. I hope that turns out to be true for both our realms.”

“I do as well,” I say.

We clasp hands, and then Prime Azele moves to disintegrate another hulking stump, this one with half the branches still intact. The resulting ash flutters down in a shower, and Prime Azele catches some in her palm, smiling.

Behind her, her shadow warps slightly, betraying the presence of Rift, guarding her. My own shadow, Silver, is trailing much less subtly, watching the most painful parts of his neighborhood unravel with an inscrutable expression.

Finally, when the last tree is puffed away and Prime Azele and I reiterate our promises and then say our goodbyes, I linger and let him approach.

“What do you think?” I ask.

He threads his fingers through mine. “I think you’re going to be a better Prime than your father.”

“I feel like we could set the bar a little higher than that,” I protest.

“I think you’re going to be the best Prime in the history of this realm or any other,” he says. “And if there are any other planets or universes out there and they have Primes, you’re going to be better than all of them, too.”

I roll my eyes but smile anyway. We fall into step heading back to the castle, still hand in hand. I will never get tired of the way his palm feels against mine.

“So,” I say. “I’ve been thinking of your housing situation.”

“Oh yeah?” He looks amused.

“I can’t help but notice that your previous home is in a somewhat… less than desirable condition.”

“What do you mean? Two walls is plenty.”

“You’re welcome to stay in the castle with me,” I offer. “Or I could get you a house in town. One in a safer area.”

He kisses my hand, but shakes his head. “I appreciate the offer. But I think I want to earn it honestly this time. Build something myself, you know? Like you’re doing. Besides.” He leans down and scoops up a handful of ash from one of the piles Prime Azele left, letting it run through his fingers and catch on the breeze. “The neighborhood’s getting a lot better.” As the last of the ash falls to the ground, he looks back at me with a hooded expression. “If you could get me papers, though? So I could get a job?”

“Actually,” I say, “that’s one thing I can’t do. Seeing as papers are no longer required for employment, we won’t be issuing any more of them. You’re free to apply wherever you’d like.”

His features relax into a relieved smile, and as we pass a candlemaker’s shop, his eyes linger on the awning. I squeeze his hand encouragingly and he shoots me a wink.

As we walk back to the palace, we chat about the events of the last few days. How Vie has none of Silver’s aversion to my generosity and has been gleefully requesting every dish she can think of from the kitchens, most of which end up being prepared by Rooftop. How the Captain approached me about taking a break from combat, since the main reason she’s stayed on so long was to push back against my father, and how I asked her whether she’d be in charge of reforming the Academy, raising up the kids there the way she always mentored me. How she loved the idea.

By the time we’re strolling through the courtyard, we’re laughing, wondering whether there are any cream puffs left over in the kitchen that we could swipe for a late evening snack.

Silver kisses me, and the action is so sweet and so open that I linger in it for a minute, reveling in the way it feels to know that this is real. That there’s someone who will be there for me, even if it’s dangerous and hard. To feel his hand cupping my cheek and my fingers in his choppy hair, warming each other even as the evening cools.

But then we say good night, because there’s one last thing I need to do. I grab the dirt-filled saucepan from my room. Then I hike up my skirts and pick up a trowel.