36. Pot Meets Kettle
DESDEMONA
The Nepenthe are bloodthirsty monsters. Give them a position where they can be granted their blood from our least desirable groups. You will keep them happy while making the groups who will be doing our fighting hate them. It’s the easiest way to extinguish such a poor waste of life without dirtying your own hands.
– THE STUDY OF NATURE AND CORENTHS BY JJ ARIST (UNPUBLISHED)
It takes Leiholan three days of gaining consciousness momentarily, chugging his vesi, and going back to sleep before he truly wakes up. I throw myself on top of him, hugging him as tight as I can and trying not to cry into his shoulder.
Is this our routine? Will I emotionally stumble to him every time I further prove myself as a murderer?
“Am I missing something?” he mumbles groggily.
“Just your leg,” I whisper.
I’m pleasantly surprised when he laughs a little and hugs me back. “It was due in time. Most of us soldiers didn’t make it out with all our limbs.”
I stiffen, and I know he can tell because his hands flatten on my back. I press myself up, thinking that this isn’t how I wanted it to go. “You killed Folk?”
He groans. “You already know I did, Desdemona.” He scratches his overgrown beard. “I don’t want to talk about this?—”
“I’ll listen,” I tell him, locking my eyes on his. “I’ll hear you.” He groans and I say, “Maybe I was wrong. Because you’re the person I care about more than anyone in this academy.”
I think of Portricia, her split tongue and kind nature. Gingerly wrapping my body in golds and blues. That’s not what a merciless killer does.
Besides, I’ve killed Folk too. It feels like I’ve killed every kind of creature under our sun. Maybe I’m the merciless killer of this duo. Because he jumped in front of that creature to save me. Someone he doesn’t even like.
I don’t know that I’d do the same for anyone.
“So I’m listening,” I finish.
“Can we do this later?” he groans, gesturing to his leg. “It’s been a long few days.”
I feel my face heat with blood. “Oh, right.” I lean back in the chair and pull my pillow under my head, closing my eyes. Not that I’ve gotten much sleep these past few days.
“No one good ever thinks they can win a war,” Leiholan whispers, and my eyes jolt open. I sit up a little taller and lean in like it will help me hear him better. He sits up too with a groan. “And I thought we would.” He looks me in my eyes, and for the first time, I don’t think I feel anger for the color of his. “I put winning over compassion. Cost me everything.”
His words feel weighted, almost like they’re tailored just for me.
If no one good thinks they can win a war, then no one good wins the war. That’s what he’s saying to me. Isn’t this what he said last time? Blamed the Folk?
“How did Anise die?” It may not seem relevant to him, but to me, it seems like everything I’ll need to know about him.
“Your Royals,” he says.
“That’s what you said last time.”
“That’s because it’s the answer. You didn’t want to hear it,” he says, and I can hear the weakness in his voice.
“But you were saying it was all of us?—”
“No, I wasn’t,” he interrupts.
“You said we did terrible things to you after the war, but so did you?—”
“This isn’t a matter of me and you, Desdemona.” His voice is more stern than I’ve ever heard before. “We don’t have a say here. A girl from the septic and a Nepenthe never held any weight.” He scratches at his beard. “Why do you hold such loyalty to the people who kept bringing the keepers to your land?”
“I don’t.”
“You believe in them more than the keepers, but they wouldn’t be there without them.”
“But that’s not—the keepers treated us like we were below them.”
“Who granted them that power?”
I watch him in silence, his eyes boring into me and his words echoing through my brain. “The Royals,” I finally say. Admitting it hurts me, a little. Because the last time we almost had this conversation, we were talking about his dead wife. “What did they do to her?” It’s hard to get the words out.
“When Lorucille won, they offered us soldiers two options—magically bind our loyalty to them, or be killed. Clearly, I swore my allegiance. They gave me my job here, said it was because I was the most adept soldier. I happened to be the only major who didn’t choose death. So they killed my parents, my brother, and Anise as punishment for my involvement.”
The room moves in slow motion when my eyes crash down and away from him. Every single movement I make of my body feels delayed, slowed down by a force beyond me. That last conversation we had comes back to me.
In my head, I’m picking up that sword again, raising it toward him, and telling him to fight me. Only, this time, I know what I’m doing is wrong.
I’m at an utter loss of words, so Leiholan fills the silence. “It’s like I said, who do you think taught the keepers?”
“Why would you keep me around when I always…”
“I saw the same qualities that led me to fight in a war within you.” He doesn’t sound sad, just resigned.
“What?” I say too harshly. “This was just some save-the-septic-girl operation?”
“Did I save you?” He looks down at his missing leg. “Not physically.”
I shake my head. “I didn’t need saving.”
“You’re the one who brought up saving, sweetheart. Not me.” Leiholan shrugs.
It’s quiet for a long time. He doesn’t look at me, but I don’t stop looking at him. How could I have gotten him so wrong? He’s not a bloodthirsty and menacing Nepenthe. He’s a man, trying to make it through with a bottle of vesi and a sword that was forced into his hands.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever like you,” I say without looking him in the eye. “But I love you.”
“Yeah?” Leiholan says. “I feel the same about you.” He looks at the wall directly behind me, and I do the same to him.
“Why do you stay?” I ask when the silence grows palpable.
“Vesi,” he grumbles. “Nothing to gain.”
“How are you not angry?” I almost shout.
He gives me a surly look. “If I am anything, it’s angry. Just not the way you’re thinking.” His eyes scan through the room, over my pillow, and to the door. “You should get back, sleep in your own bed.”
I don’t move.
He presses his lips into a line. “We’ll talk soon, promise. Get some rest.” He closes his eyes, and I close mine while I struggle to get comfortable. “In your own room,” he mumbles.
I don’t get up, not until the sun shines through the window. Leiholan’s been up a few times; I know because his bottle of vesi’s been drained.
Heading back to my suite, I wonder if we’re still in lockdown. The hallways look empty and feel quiet, but I’ve heard nothing about there being more corenths.
When I open the door to my room, Aralia’s head shoots up. There’s a long dark-red dress in her lap and a green one next to it. “I got you a dress,” she says.
I throw the school bag that I haven’t opened since before Leiholan lost his leg on the dresser. Funny, it was only four days ago, but it feels like a lifetime. All that anger I had for Aralia is still there, it’s just muted behind the layers of everything else.
“Thanks,” I mumble unconvincingly and fall onto my bed. We didn’t have beds like this back home, and after spending three nights in a chair, I remember what it felt like on my first nights here. Like a patch of thick, cushy grass.
“Des—”
“Don’t call me that,” I snap.
I guess I knew she’d hate me if she found out. Considering everything they have printed in their textbooks about the septic. Printed by the Royals. Despite realizing Leiholan has been right all along, there’s this part of me screaming that he’s wrong.
“You have to know?—”
“How sorry you are?” I say mockingly and tip my head in her direction. “Got it.” She opens her mouth, and I sit up with more force than Leiholan’s sword. “You don’t deserve my forgiveness. And I don’t want your dresses or your pence.”
“I know I don’t deserve it.” Every muscle in her face droops. “I–I should’ve—” she gulps. “I should’ve done something with Jermoine and Breck. I know that now. I’m not looking for pity or–or anything but… I wasn’t lying when I called you my best friend.”
“Well, I was,” I say coolly.
She closes her eyes with so much force that they crinkle under the wrinkles. “I have to tell you?—”
“No,” I say and turn on the bed, laying on my side and facing the wall.
Aralia speaks anyway. “I knew you weren’t one of us. For a little while I was trying to figure out who you really were, and the more time we spent together—” she cuts herself off, and I fume silently.
Was everything fake? Lucian wanted me to get closer to the Arcanes, and she wanted me to see if I was septic.
I tuck my knees into my chest and hug them.
“I cared about you fast,” she begins again. “Then you didn’t flinch in Arson’s Alley, and I saw the scars on your back one day when you were changing?—”
I turn around to face her. “You think this is helping?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “I want to be honest, that’s all.”
“You want me to see where you’re coming from.” My eyes narrow on her. “Is that it?”
“I’m telling you that I grew up with a specific view of the septic. Knowing you showed me how wrong that was.”
I laugh bitterly, all those layers peeling back, all this anger burning hot. “I’m so glad you could have that cozy little lesson. I’ll make sure to tell all my neighbors back home that the girl with the kingdom mommy learned that septic people aren’t disgusting. I’m sure they’ll be thrilled. Better yet, maybe it will fill their stomachs!”
“Desdemona—”
“Screw you. You know, I hope that someday someone freezes you in the corner of a room and comes at you with a sword while I watch and do nothing.” Her frown grows further. “We’re not just not friends,” I say, and even though I don’t mean the next words, fury pushes me forward. “I hate you.”
I watch her neck work while she swallows, and I hope to the gods that it hurts. “I got the green one for you.” She looks at the dress next to her. “Portricia and I both thought it matched you well.”
For the first time, I wonder what the dress is for.