30. Facing What I Turned Away From
DESDEMONA
Aman is huddled in the corner of his cage. One little window sits at the top of the stone wall, the sunlight reflecting dimly between the bars, just enough for me to see his auburn hair. He looks at me and exhales shakily, saying something like, “For fuck’s sake,” under his breath.
“Freyr?” I don’t think I’m doing a very good job of restraining the visibility of my emotions.
“What’s your name?” he asks unkindly.
“Desdemona.” I sound unsure of myself. Like maybe my name isn’t Desdemona.
So, what now? I can’t just ask if he’s my dad, can I?
Light fills the room—the trap door is opening. Against my will, heat rises through me—power. My hands tingle with barely tamed flame.
But it’s only Lucian.
It’s Lucian. He feels safe in this scenario and like the most dangerous person in any world in every other.
The reality of the situation is this: we are not safe around one another, and he’s one wrong move away from becoming my next human torch.
What am I thinking?
I shove my hands into my pockets, and it does nothing to ease the burn.
Lucian points at me, the door slamming shut behind him. “You found him.”
Was I supposed to? “You didn’t give me much to work with.”
“The plan was for you to come with me.” He walks closer to me.
“Plans change,” I say, but the words feel more emotionally weighted than I mean them to.
“That would be the first time you told me the truth,” he says slowly while he walks up to me, stopping only a few inches away.
Only then do I realize that Freyr is locked in place by shadows. “What are you doing to him?” I ask, with a certain amount of terror in my tone that I don’t deserve to take up. It was only a few days ago that I killed a boy and took another one’s arms.
The heat in my pocket begins to feel very real. And very dangerous. But if he tries to choke me again, it will become my saving grace.
Lucian looks into the cell. “Would you answer her questions, Freyr?” His smile is on me now, and I can feel the chill of his shadows when one caresses my cheek, too close to my neck. I swat at it, and my hand goes right through.
“She shouldn’t be here,” Freyr responds to Lucian.
“Well, news flash,” I wave my hands at him, “I am here. So maybe you could?—”
“Why shouldn’t she be?” Lucian cuts me off.
“There’s a reason Isa raised you in the septic,” Freyr says, finally looking at me.
“Other than to escape punishment?” I hear Lucian say.
I crouch down, putting myself at Freyr’s eye level. “Why did she take us to the septic?” My throat burns from the embarrassing threat of tears, and my eyes burn from the deadly threat of fire.
I’m much more worried about the former.
But his eyes tear away from mine, and he looks at Lucian with a kind of disdain I’ve only seen when Folk are looking at the keeper who caught them with extra rations—which always ends in a whipping.
I don’t care to count how many times Damien or I have been on that end.
“I won’t talk with him here,” Freyr says.
Looking up at Lucian, I’m scared that I’m one “no” away from pleading. My eyes do the begging that my vocal cords refuse.
Lucian looks down at me, and for one second, I see him again. But it’s gone before I get the chance to drown in the dark blue seas that swarm in his eyes. Then he’s gone too.
“Show me the memor,” is the first thing he says.
I try to swallow the lump growing in my throat as I pull the necklace from beneath my shirt. Freyr shakes his head and frowns. For a moment he does nothing more than stare. It’s in that moment that I see the truth.
He is who she was before me, and I am who she was after him.
Who she is.
“She didn’t run to escape punishment,” he tells me. “Isa ran so she could raise you.” He tries to pull against the shadows that are wrapped around his wrists and legs, but they don’t budge.
“I’m sorry he’s doing this to you.” I scoot closer to the bars, a show of faith.
“I’m glad it’s not his mom.”
Speaking of moms, “Why would she have to run to the septic to raise me?”
“The Althenia’s used to be highly regarded in the court of Lorucille. They fell from grace when the three of us were caught making the weapon.” It takes years to build and seconds to destroy. That was my entire life, building with broken blocks. Gaining a life and losing it. A fate that I’m not even close to breaking. “Isa didn’t trust what they’d do with you.”
“Are you—” Damn this burning in my throat. I try to clear it. “Are you my dad?”
Freyr shakes his head. “You don’t want me as a dad.”
I hear his answer, and suddenly every other question I had slips away from me. Barely managing, I get one word to slip past my frown. “Arcanes.” I swallow again to clear my throat. “What are they going to do with her?”
I make out the shadow of his frown. “If she’s still alive, then I don’t know. She was a good woman, Desdemona.”
“I know.” The corners of my eyes fill, and I blink away the tears. “She is alive,” I croak. “I’m gonna get there.”
He shakes his head. “Don’t. I know you think it’s worth it, but it’s not.”
“How could you say that?” I scoot back.
“I know more about them than you do.”
Despite what he said, this suddenly feels very much like I’m talking to a dad. My dad.
“Then tell me.”
“If the prince is listening?—”
“He’s not.”
“Look, all I can say is that when I was young, there were stories about the return of the… creatures. The Rising, they called it, before saying the word was banned.” His eyes grow heavy in the darkness. “The censorship didn’t begin with your generation, true speak of the Arcanes has been difficult to enact for a very long time.”
“That’s it?” I say. “I mean, that was a whole bunch of nothing.” I know they’re coming back, they’ve been here! I don’t need a fancy title for what’s already happening. He breathes in shakily. “Tell me something that can help me. Like, what can they do, magically? How can I fight one and win?”
“You don’t,” his words are sharp. “Getting out alive is winning.”
“Theoretically, how do they die?”
“The only thing I’ve heard can kill them is taking their life force, but no mortal orphia can hold theirs.”
“There are only mortal orphia.” I can’t hide the strain from my voice. That heat is turning to anger really fast.
“Does Cynthia still work at the academy?” he asks.
“The headmistress?”
“She’s a headmistress now?” He laughs. “That’s good for her.” I think I hear sarcasm.
I stand up, but I don’t walk away. “Will I ever see you again?”
“I’m not your dad,” he whispers. “That’s for your sake.”
Doubting that he’ll see it, I nod once and turn away. The tears that have been building fall down my cheeks, and I wipe them all away on my sleeve before I open the trap door.
And lucky for me, Lucian is waiting just outside. I close the door before I look at him, scowling. “What do you want?” I sniffle, hyper-aware of my eyes that are probably rimmed with red. It’s only now that I notice the stench of vesi.
“The truth.”
“You. Know. Everything!” I scream so loud it shakes my eardrums.
He nods once, stepping closer to me. The rain coats his hair, dark, loose curls falling into his eyes.
“What do you want?” I force the words out.
Lucian’s eyes look into mine almost the way they used to and he whispers, “Your very existence has torn mine to shreds. I want to know what you’ve done to me.”
Good. He told me I was haunting. I hope I’m haunting him still. I hope these thoughts of me take him to his grave.
I like that I’m a nuisance for him. I want to be worse.
I want to be his ruin.
“I want you to have never come here,” he says with a hint of finality.
I can’t help but laugh. It’s bitter in my throat. “You think that I don’t? All I’ve thought about, every day, since I got here was getting back home!”
“All you’ve thought about?” He smiles the kind of smile that makes me want to slap it off. A kind of smile that doesn’t belong on a boy who seconds ago told me I’m tearing his existence to shreds. But, despite that, he leans closer to me, sending chills down my spine when he whispers in my ear, “Because I’m fairly certain your mind was on… other things while we were dancing.”
I shiver and hope that he’ll blame it on the rain and my soaking wet clothes—not his voice.
“It was.” I slam my forearm into his chest, and he hits the wall with a satisfying groan. I lean into him this time, looking up. “I was thinking about every way I could make you want me.” I cock an eyebrow. “And how to weaponize your longing.”
I wish that were the truth. I wish I’d thought so far ahead.
This time when he smiles, I memorize the hint of pain in it.
“I don’t believe that.”
I wish he’d fight me back, just to give me a reason to take this further.
“Just remember that you’ve already played your best move against me.” I eye him up and down purposefully. “And you have no clue what mine will be.”
“Perhaps the truth could inspire you, Marquees, because I can always see what you’re going to do next. And it isn’t nearly as pretty as you are.”
He’s a Seer, isn’t he? This could certainly get worse.
“You’re bluffing.”
Lucian smiles. “Perhaps I wanted an excuse to call you pretty.”
“What is wrong with you?” I drop my arm from his chest and take a step back. “I hate you.” He wouldn’t think I was pretty without Aralia’s glamour. “You tried to kill me!”
“And you almost killed me,” he says with a shrug.
“And I will. You know I?—”
Lucian grabs my wrist, pulling me back to him. I inhale sharply. Then I shake my head, mostly at myself.
I’ve held knives to his throat, but I could never do anything of real consequence. And I’m not gonna do anything now either.
When did I become so weak?
“I urge you to say it again.” I can feel my pulse thumping against his thumb like my heart is in my wrist. “Without clenching your left hand.”
The one he’s holding.
“Please,” I say, even though I’m a bit scared that he is right. That I am lying and do have a tell. “The only reason my hand is clenched is because I’m fighting the urge to punch you.”
Then his fingers intertwine with mine, pulling my fist apart before holding my wrist.
“Say it,” he whispers, leaning in close. Too close. “Say you hate me.”
I gulp. I don’t clench my fist. And I say, “I hate you.”
Lucian smiles. Like he wanted to hear it. Then he spins me around and presses me into the wall, the wet ivy slippery beneath me.
“Have you ever kissed someone you hated?” I’m stunned. Annoyingly, obnoxiously frozen beneath his electrifying touch. “I’d imagine it’s not so different from love. The spike of adrenaline,” his hand inches up, his fingers grazing over mine, “the pounding of your heart.” It’s the ghost of a touch. Enough to get me going but not to keep me satiated. “The electricity. In fact…” His fingers intertwine with mine for a second before he pulls them back. Then he picks up my chin like he really would kiss me. “I’d even bet it to be more lustful.”
“Well you’ll have to find someone else who hates you,” I push the words past the lump in my throat.
“Because you don’t?” His tone is so clearly teasing. Mocking.
I grab his wrist from under my chin, twisting it enough to at least sprain. He groans and even though it’s cut short it’s still gratifying. “Because I’d kill you before I’d kiss you.”
“Oh,” he says while smiling. Like I played right into his hand. “But you can’t see the future.”
* * *
I don’t go to the headmistress. I’m telling myself it’s because I don’t believe Freyr and not because my mind feels infested every time I think of her.
It’s funny, I thought I was alone before all this. But this week, with Leiholan not being a liable person I can go to anymore, I’m finally seeing that it’s been a long time since I’ve been fully alone. Even though I was lying to everyone in some way—and still am—that’s how I’ve always been. Even Damien, Elliae, my own mom.
I’m just a damned liar.
I don’t know which word in that sentiment fits me better at this point—damned or liar. I guess I’m both.
My room smells like joints and vesi and Aralia’s gone again—which is becoming more and more of a frequent thing. I don’t miss her, not by a long stretch.
I miss anyone. Everyone. No one. What I never had.
The dreams still happen every night, and when I wake up in hot sweats, sometimes Aralia stirs, but she never asks if I’m okay. At least last night she said something.
She was facing me and our eyes met in the darkness. “You talk in your sleep sometimes,” she said.
I was still breathless, but not like the one night. When I… “Oh.”
“I wanna say I’m…” she trailed off. “Sleep better.”
I hate her.
The dreams are all repeats now. Reruns. Same old shit. I’ve done almost everything that’s happened in them now. Set a forest on fire, killed someone.
Four someones. I guess I’ve become exactly who I was scared I’d be in those dreams. At least I get to hug my mom in them. I guess, in a way, it’s worth it.
The kids stopped trying to attack me in Elemental Magic. Now they run away instead. Formidable—and I did it without Leiholan’s help too. Because he never told me to kill someone and take another someone’s arms. That was all me.
Maybe he is right about the Folk, because I’m turning out to be worse than them.
It makes sense I’m alone now, with this reputation of mine.
I wipe my eyes, even though I’m trying to wipe my mind. I did what I had to do to survive. Someone weaker would be dead now. I’m lucky, I’m smart, I’m strong.
I’m burning. I shake out my hands and blow on my fingers, hoping for a moment of cool. Ms. Abrams wants everyone to pair up to test out their progress. I look at Aralia, but she averts her gaze.
Right, alone. Everyone else I look at looks away too. I sit in the corner alone, like usual. I’m already going to fail anyway, and despite me having no plans of working in the kingdom, there’s no way I’d get to even if I wanted to—now that my true identity has been outed.
In Psychology, I look for Lucian, like I do every day. When I find him, I turn away, and when he’s not looking, I watch his back.
Fantasizing about the day I’ll get to stab him there.
I like it better this way. Gentleness is weakness. Tender hands and touching words are treacherous—they tear down walls you’d placed strategically. They tarnish armor you crafted for a reason. And when it comes to the end, it’s not gentleness that sends a blade through your opponent’s heart.
It’s rage.
Rage is strength. Rage has kept me breathing.
A week later, and I haven’t said a word to anyone—and no one’s said anything to me either. I think if I tried to speak, my vocal cords would crack.
In the halls Aralia and I used to walk together—Fleur, Eleanora, and Calista push themselves into her again. A book falls out of her bag, her philosophy book, and a picture falls from it.
Eleanora steps on it when Aralia goes to grab it and then I’m in front of them all. My eyes are burning so bad they sting.
“Lift your foot, or I’ll burn you alive,” I say through gritted teeth. Eleanora steps back in line with Fleur and Calista, and I look at them all.
“Clam down, inferno,” Aralia says, her hand on my shoulder.
They’re gone now, and I shrug Aralia away from me. “You didn’t deserve my help,” I say out loud.
“Des,” she says.
“Don’t.” I shouldn’t have gotten involved. Then I look down at the photo next to my foot. I recognize the man from our windowsill. It’s her dad.
Can’t I go to Leiholan now? Or at least work up the courage to go see what conversation I should be having with the headmistress? I don’t know which sounds scarier, and instead of deciding I walk, watching my feet.
“I’m sorry, Des,” Aralia’s voice carries through the hall. “I’ve been sorry this whole time,” this time the words are quiet, like she wants the words to just be for me, but they still carry through the hall. I know there are eyes on me, so I keep my head down and try to get away.
Suddenly, I’m met by a body, and something forces me to look up.
It’s Wendy. She reaches for my wrist, her eyes glazing over until they’re nothing but a washed-out shade of green. And out of her mouth comes the most eerie, toneless voice I’ve ever heard in my life.
“Time fractures with the stone. The one who leaves returns alone. When the cracks in the universe divide, love will be your demise.”
Wendy’s eyes go back to normal, and her hands jerk back. Her whole body is shaking, and I watch her throat work to swallow before she runs away from me. Aralia meets me immediately, asking me if I’m alright, and I step away from her.
What just happened?
“Here,” she hands me a piece of paper—she’s still holding a pen. Whatever Wendy just said to me is written down. “It’s a prophecy.”
The one who leaves returns alone.
Mom.
She’s told me about prophecies before. Supposedly, they’re set in stone unless something big happens to change the future that was shown by Zola—and that’s only a guess.
I shove the paper in my pocket and look at Aralia. “Just because you declared your apologies in a hallway of twenty people,” who are all still looking at us, “doesn’t mean we’re friends.”
“You still wear my clothes.” Aralia arches an eyebrow. “And use my blusher. I don’t know how many Folk share their clothes with people they don’t consider friends.”
She’s right. “Then I’ll stop wearing your clothes.”
I’m walking down the hall, fast, when she whines, “Des.”
“Save it!” My voice echoes around me.
Temptation takes its roots and takes me to Headmistress Constance. “She’s not in,” her secretary tells me.
“Do you know when she will be?”
“I’ll have her contact you. Desdemona?” She says my name like she’s unsure, but she must remember those two days and the not-dream, must know more than she lets on.
“Yeah,” I say. “Desdemona Marquees.”
It’s only half a day later when I get my invitation from the headmistress. I go immediately. Nothing left to lose.
“Fair to see you again, dear,” she says to me.
“You know why I’m here.” Before I can react, there’s a letter opener being lodged in my bicep. I can feel every cell in my body electrifying, the heat building everywhere. I grab the hilt, ready to pull it from my skin.“What is wrong with?—”
I stop.
“Go on.” She gestures to the letter opener, both in my arm and in my hand, and smiles. “Heal.”
The heat is dizzying as I try to think up another convincing lie. Oh, whatever. “I don’t heal.” I pull her bloody and bedazzled letter opener from me with a stifled whimper and drop it on her desk. Blue looks good with blood. “My body burns the wound shut, but trust me, it hurts like a bitch for a long time after.”
“Fascinating,” she whispers slowly.
“Got any more blades you wanna poke me with?”
I think of Leiholan, his warnings about the woman across from me. There’s lying to everyone else, but there’s no lying to myself. I still trust me, and I think I do believe that he wants the best for me.
“If that’s an invitation.” She wipes my blood on a small, white handkerchief. “But no.” The letter opener is being held by the tip of its blade, and the hilt is facing me. “I want you to melt it.”
Jermoine. I took his arms. What will happen to me if I do it again?
What will happen if I can do it again, whenever I please, to whomever I wish?
“Fine.” I grab it from her hastily and close my palm around the blade, just like the last time. I think of the adrenaline, fighting for my life and being so close to losing it that the last attempt my instincts could manage was grabbing a sword that was coming for my head. My heart races just thinking of all the ways I could’ve died.
That heat overwhelms me. I feel it in my nose, singing my nostrils and behind my eyes, burning my vision. I grip the blade tighter, pulling blood, and when the heat rushes to my palm to cauterize the wound, the metal crunches like a leaf in my hand right before it melts.
I can barely contain the laugh that rumbles deep within me, forcing its way out. Damn, does this feel good. Every cell in my body is electrified, and not from pain—but from power.
I meet the headmistress’s icy blue eyes, where I see her smile before her mouth does.