15. Prospective Seconde Mancella Amaryllis Cliff
15
P ROSPECTIVE S ECONDE M ANCELLA A MARYLLIS C LIFF
|3 DAYS UNTIL THE ASSURANCE|
Silver came for me.
As I lean over the railing of the boat, watching him scale up its side, I ruminate on that fact.
He actually came. I didn’t even ask him to, but he was there .
I perch my chin on my arms, smiling down at him. Warmth curls in my stomach like steam over a mug of cocoa, and I revel in the feeling. The evening air is cool and my clothes are sopping wet, but I’m not shivering. I feel lit up from within.
When he nears the top, I extend a hand. He takes it, and his palms are rough and calloused beneath my fingers as I haul him over the edge. His grip is strong.
Once he’s solidly on the deck, I swipe dripping hair away from my face and scan him up and down.
The poor guy is soaked, and with his overcoat floating somewhere in the water below us, he’s down to just a white undershirt, which clings to him like it wants to weld itself to his skin. Unlike me, his teeth are chattering, and he looks decidedly uncomfortable.
Without thinking, I fling my arms around his neck, wanting nothing more than to share my own warmth with him. But when my chest hits his I jolt at the feeling, and he tenses as well. The dress I’m wearing is thin, and his shirt is barely there, so when I wrap myself around him, it feels like we’re skin to skin. As I suck in a breath, I feel his muscles go rigid everywhere our bodies touch. Which is… a lot of places.
Way too many places.
I’m about to pull back in embarrassment when a tentative touch at my waist causes me to still. Slowly, almost like he’s fighting himself on it, he winds his hands around me, pressing me closer.
I sag in relief against him, leaning my head on his shoulder as my hands sink down to his chest. I breathe in and he smells like pine and woodsmoke. It reminds me of a crackling, comforting bonfire, and the uneasy tension I’ve been carrying for hours begins to lighten.
“Are you okay?” he asks, and his chest rumbles with the question.
I nod against his neck, so close I can feel his heartbeat thrumming. The solid, steady beat of it convinces me that the danger is past, that we really made it out, and I clutch the front of his shirt in relief. “Thank you,” I say. “For being there.”
He flinches. Then all of a sudden, he’s pulling back, disentangling our limbs and running a hand through his hair as he releases a shaky breath. “Right. So, uh. What is this place?” he asks.
Cool air rushes into the space he used to occupy and now I do feel like shivering. Did I do something wrong? The edges of my lips pull down.
“Um… a cousin and I found it when we were younger,” I manage to say. “He read about it in some book.”
I move my hands up and down my arms, still chilled. Silver watches the motion with knitted brows. He doesn’t say anything, so I keep talking.
“It was a treatise on the line of succession in the Jungle Realm, and there was a footnote about some noble who was eligible to inherit for about a day and a half. He went to the Broken Citadel and gained the power to form a ship out of nothing, one that could ride on land as if it were sea. But he only got about halfway back home before he discovered the dark side of it—sail the ship too long, and it will drown you on its deck. Every single passenger suffocated where they stood. After the bodies were hauled free, the boat was left here, and someone else became next in line instead. Just another fun inheritance battle for the books.”
I grimace and Silver nods, rubbing the back of his neck. I’m sure he’s heard several other stories of this kind, some true and some embellished. The early days of the treaty were so chaotic.
“Anyway,” I say. “Alect wanted to know if it was still here, and I begged him to let me come when he looked for it. So we packed a picnic and set out, with all the seriousness of actual treasure hunters. And here it was. We ate on the deck and then we went swimming in our clothes. When the sun set, we dragged ourselves back to the castle, soaking wet but triumphant. It was… one of the best days of my life.”
Silver nods, looking nostalgic, perhaps for happier memories of his own. “So why did you take us here today?” he asks quietly.
I bow my head, looking at the moss that carpets the wood beneath my feet. “We never told anyone about it,” I say softly. “It was our secret, but we’d steal away and visit from time to time. It used to be my sanctuary. I was picturing it when…”
I trail off, but Silver doesn’t make me finish. He peers out into the shadowy trees before dropping his hand with a sigh. “Your dad’s a real scumbag, you know that?”
I snort humorlessly. “I’m not a huge fan of him either at the moment.”
There are tiny white flowers sprouting in the moss between my toes, so small and so sweet they look like a dusting of sugar. They’re not starsprouts, but they’ll do. I crouch down and pick a few, molding the moss into little bundles that vaguely resemble bouquets. Then I lean over the edge and drop them one by one into the water below.
My chest aches when I realize I don’t know how many I need to make. How many died because of my magic.
Silver comes over and props himself on the railing next to me, watching the little blooming bundles bob away.
“Why do you do that?” he asks. “You made one for Vie, too.”
I stretch my lips into a self-deprecating smile, but it collapses as soon as I form it.
“Because I have to do something ,” I tell him. “To show respect. To say that I’m sorry. But also…” I lapse into silence.
He turns his attention from the water to me. “What?” he presses.
I pick at a splinter on the railing.
“It’s… a form of protest, I guess. The ones I usually use, the starsprouts, are actually just weeds that grow in our lawn. My father hates them. He has a standing order for them to be plucked and burned daily. But… they’re so resilient. They just keep coming back. So using them to make bouquets is my way of saying that I find meaning and beauty in things that my father doesn’t. Even in the darkest moments. And that, just like he can never stomp the flowers out fully, I won’t let that spark of goodness in me die completely either. No matter how many beasts we bury in my heart.”
My words get soft, and I slump against the railing as the day’s events finally hit me. I swear I can smell the blood again, can feel the ash and hear the screams. Here I am talking about silly flowers when my magic took multiple lives today. Have I finally gone too far? Should I just admit that that spark of goodness has at last been obliterated?
Silver reaches out but hesitates. His hand hovers just above my shoulder, and through the curtain of my hair, I watch it clench into a fist. Then he drops it back to his side, and it feels like a condemnation. My throat gets thick.
“I used to think this place was beautiful, you know?” I tell him, spitting out words just to keep myself from crying. “Even after Alect left and I stopped coming, I would still think about it from time to time. I just… I loved how the trees grew back after they were trampled. I thought maybe I could be like that. I could take the harsh reality I was given and find a way to peacefully grow in spite of it. But what if I’m not the trees? What if I’m the boat? What if I plunge out into the world and fail and kill people, and then the world conquers me and all I can do is lie there helpless as it does?”
“You’re not the boat,” he says. “You’re one of the strongest people I know.”
His words cut straight to my core, and I tuck my hair behind my ear so I can look at him. His expression is sincere and open, like the words were easy for him to say.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
For some reason, he winces and looks away. “You need to stop thanking me.”
“Why?”
He shakes his head. “I… don’t deserve it.”
My eyebrows draw together and I twist toward him. “Why not?”
He runs a hand down his face, then pushes off the railing and paces across the deck. When he reaches the mast he turns back, leaning against it with his arms crossed over his chest. Whatever conflict was on his face before is gone now, locked away behind the same kind of placid smile he wore when we first met.
“So what’s the plan from here?” he asks.
“Silver…” I take a step toward him.
“Are you going back?”
“No.”
“You’d leave your people, then? You’re supposed to be named Seconde in three days. You’re just not going to show?” His voice is accusatory and it brings me up short.
“I… don’t know,” I answer.
“Where are you going to go?” he pushes. “What are you going to do? What’s the plan, Mancella?”
The fact that he used my full name for possibly the first time ever feels like a slap. I don’t know what’s going on or what came over him just now, but it scares me. I take another step, and his crossed arms flex.
“I don’t have a plan yet,” I admit. “My main goal was just to get away. But… where’s this coming from all of a sudden? What are you trying to distract me from?”
He inhales sharply, and I know I’ve gotten it right. Within seconds, his smirk is locked in place, but his eyes are burning with an intensity that hits me square in the chest.
I step forward again. “Whatever it is that you think makes you undeserving of my thanks, you’re wrong,” I tell him stubbornly.
But he doesn’t seem cheered. He tears his eyes away from me, his mouth narrowing to a thin line.
“How can you say that without knowing what it is?” he asks, voice rough.
I close the rest of the space between us and tilt my head until I’m right in his eyeline.
“Because,” I answer, dead serious, “of everyone in my life, you’re the only one who was there for me when I needed you, and that means something. My mother might plead in private conversations I can’t hear, my sister might lend me support in the aftermath, my Captain might try to be a force of reason, and my servants and soldiers might whisper among themselves that it isn’t right, but when it comes to the moments I need help the most, no one has ever been around.” I put a hand on his chest. “You were . And I don’t know what you judge worth by, but I for one judge a person by their actions. And nothing else.”
He clicks his tongue and tries to look away again, but I grip his chin hard, forcing him back. This time when our eyes lock, his are angry.
“Well, what if it’s my actions that I’m worried about?” he demands. “What if I did something really… unforgivable?”
“Like what?” I ask softly.
For the barest moment, his eyes flick to my lips.
I swallow, and in a frightening burst of insight, I think I understand what he means.
It feels like we’re on the cusp of something, just a step away from careening off a ledge. My whole body feels alive and I have the insane thought that falling might not be so bad, as long as we do it together. Does he feel it, too? That something? Is that what he thinks he’s unworthy of?
“Something I couldn’t take back,” he whispers. “Something that changed everything.”
“Maybe,” I say breathlessly. “I wouldn’t mind.”
“Wait. What?” His brows draw together again and his eyes bore into mine. “What are you saying?”
I’m not sure myself. Admittedly, I haven’t thought any of this through. But after the day I’ve had, the fact that anything at all can feel good is incredible. Beneath my hand, his heart is hammering, and my own is as well.
Without questioning my desire to, I lean in, tilting my face toward him in invitation.
When he realizes what I’m doing, Silver’s face goes slack in surprise. His eyes flare, and the anger evaporates from them like water in a frying pan.
He puts a hand up to stop me, pushing gently against my collarbone.
“Wait,” he says. But it comes out hoarse and low, and it doesn’t sound like he wants me to wait at all.
I stop in place, my lips just a breath from his. His hand is an anchor, and there’s no way he can’t feel my heartbeat, too. The frenzied rhythm it pounds through my veins feels like an admission, one I can’t take back. I wait for him to pull me forward or push me back, but he doesn’t do either.
Instead, he closes his eyes as if praying for strength.
“Mance,” he says, the word almost a growl.
“Yes?” I reply, my own voice barely more than a whisper.
But he doesn’t respond right away. He just leans his forehead against mine and blows out a slow, tortured breath.
“I—”
Whatever he’s about to say is interrupted by a peal of thunder so clamorous that for a second it feels like the boat is shaking. Then the heavens open up and a torrential, freezing downpour slices the moment in half.
I gasp and Silver staggers sideways, pulling his hands back like my body burned him. I let my own hand drop from his chest as well.
For a few tense seconds, the beating rain is the only sound. It drowns out my heavy breaths, as well as whatever Silver is muttering to himself that he clearly doesn’t want me to hear. Finally, he raises his voice over the storm.
“Where do we go?” he asks.
I look around. “Captain’s quarters. Come on!”
I reach for his hand, but he flinches, and I draw back, stung.
It doesn’t matter. I turn and sprint across the deck, Silver choosing to follow behind me instead of running at my side. We have to tear undergrowth away from the door, but eventually we’re able to fling it open, dive inside, and shoulder it shut behind us, blocking out the deluge.
The sound of the rain dulls to a steady, soothing rhythm, and I slide down the door to sit on the floor. The wood is smooth and sturdy, even though it should be rotted away by now. There must still be some magic holding it together.
Silver moves past me into the room, uselessly wringing out his shirt as he takes everything in.
It’s a small room, but thanks to the fact that it was closed off from the elements, it remains mostly untouched. Just the way I remember it. Well, almost. The far wall is covered in windows, but they’re coated in ivy now, making an odd, leafy curtain. Everything else is the same, though, from the cupboard and writing desk built into the wall to the bed tucked up under the windowpanes. It even still boasts a blanket and some pillows, which will come in handy if the rain keeps up like this.
“You asked about the plan?” I say. “I guess it’s to stay here tonight.”
“Here?” Silver asks, voice tight. “Aren’t there crew quarters somewhere else on the ship?”
“Yeah, right about where that giant tree in the middle is,” I tell him. “If it’s not flooded already, it surely will be soon. Why?”
He seems incredibly uneasy, and I’m not sure what could possibly be upsetting him about this perfectly good shelter.
It’s only when he glowers at the opposite side of the room that I figure out what the issue is.
There’s only one bed.
I manage to suppress a laugh, but I can’t help the smile that coils the edges of my lips, and I quickly duck my head to hide it.
Perhaps the moment doesn’t have to be lost after all.