Chapter 1 Mance #2
He raises an eyebrow, gaze drifting to the letter again before I shove it into my pocket, clearing my throat. “You’re certain there are no other terms? No other promises made on either side that I should know about? Not then or at any other point in your reign?”
Something amused flashes in his eyes. “No, none. Is there a reason you’re asking?”
Once again, I ignore his question, blowing out a long breath, less cautious about showing my emotions now that I have the information I need. “All right,” I say. “Thank you. You’ve been very helpful. As promised, I will send the book down shortly.”
Without another word, I turn on my heel, marching back toward the staircase, too relieved to even say goodbye. I feel his eyes following me until I turn the corner, but it’s easy to shrug them off as my mind races through the implications of what he’s told me, the avenues his words have opened up.
Unfortunately, that means I’m too lost in thought to properly brace myself against my other prisoner. She’s been quiet, and I let my guard slip. For a second, I forgot she was there.
When I pass by her cage, she leaps at me. Her shoulder slams into the bars so hard that it makes the magical shield glow, illuminating her furious face for one terrifying moment before I rip my gaze away and stumble back, my heart rate ratcheting up and my animals rioting.
I will never get used to the way my features look when they’re distorted by hatred. The way my eyes can burn.
“You’re a monster!” the girl—the severed piece of my soul—shrieks into my face.
“You walk around up there in the sunshine pretending that you’re perfect.
That you’re kind. But you can’t avoid me forever.
I will find a way to break out of this cell, and when I do, I will show everyone what you truly are. I will—”
“Can’t you just be quiet, Livid?” I snap back at her, whirling. Still embarrassed that I was caught off guard.
It’s not rage that colors my tone. I don’t feel that emotion anymore.
But, unexpectedly, cutting the depths of my anger out of my core has made me more prone to the milder emotion of irritation. More likely to lose my patience.
Unsurprisingly, the girl does not oblige my request. She lashes out harder, her screams turning almost incoherent, as her predators pace the cell behind her, gnashing their teeth.
I berate myself for engaging at all. Skin still crawling with the panicked wriggles of my own creatures, I turn and sprint the rest of the way up the stairs, only stopping when I’ve slammed the door firmly shut behind me and latched it, cutting off all sound.
Wishing I could cut the emotion off just as easily.
I’m breathing hard again, my pulse pounding in my ears. But at least the hallway is quiet.
Until—
“Hey,” a voice says from nearby. “Are you okay?”
I gasp, my head snapping up and my fingers scrambling behind me to make sure the lock is secured. That the awful secret I’m keeping from the world is solidly contained on the other side.
Silver, his choppy hair falling into his face as always, studies me with amber eyes full of concern.
I exhale in relief, even as a jolt of guilt coils in the pit of my stomach, chased by an aftertaste of fear that he might have heard some of Livid’s screaming, might have glimpsed the part of me that I so desperately want to hide from him.
From everyone. But when his expression doesn’t change, the fight drains from my body and I slump forward, almost dizzy from its loss.
Without missing a beat, he moves to catch me, gathering me securely against his chest. I lean into him, inhaling his familiar pine-smoke scent and burying my face in the crook of his neck, my chin resting on his collarbone.
He skates his fingers up my spine, and my muscles turn to jelly beneath his touch.
Closing my eyes, I press even closer, attempting to chase the shadows of the dungeons away. Attempting to lose myself in his embrace completely.
“I’m fine,” I assure him, perhaps too brightly. “Everything’s fine. I just . . . had to talk to my father about something, and it’s left me a little . . . shaken.”
His arms flex, then tighten around me. “What could you possibly need to talk to him about?”
Silver’s history with my father is almost as difficult as my own.
His parents were both conscripted in the war and died in mere weeks, leaving Silver to be raised by the Academy, which is an unforgiving place to grow up.
He escaped, though, and has been living in the streets since.
Oh, and a few months ago he was part of a plot to murder my father in cold blood, although he did back out of it in the end.
All this to say, Silver is not exactly the former Prime’s biggest fan.
I realize with a start that it’s been too long since he asked a question, and I don’t know what to say.
I was trying to avoid telling him about Livid, but I absolutely don’t want him to know what I was talking to my father about, either.
Not until I can figure out what I’m going to do about the monumental decision looming before me.
One that would affect him as much as it affects me.
The letter weighs heavy in my pocket, and another wave of guilt washes over me as I stare up into his loving, unsuspicious eyes.
“Just . . . politics,” I say vaguely.
He tilts his head. “You know you can tell me,” he prompts. “If it’s serious enough to talk to him, then it must be a pretty big deal. If I can help, I want to.”
“I know, I just . . .” I plaster on a pained smile. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have time right now. I need to hold a counsel. On something extremely time sensitive. But we’ll catch up soon?”
He nods slowly, though I can tell he’s still studying me, trying to figure out what I won’t say.
So I raise onto tiptoes and press my lips to his, hoping to reassure him that we, at least, are fine, no matter what else is going on.
I only mean for it to be a quick peck, but he surprises me by deepening it, one hand cradling the back of my head, and the other pressing into the small of my back until we’re melded together, his kiss slow and languid enough to make my knees buckle. To make me want to stay.
“Soon?” he confirms, voice husky. “You promise?”
“Soon,” I repeat, startled to find my own voice breathy and faint. I clear my throat, embarrassed. “I promise.”
He smirks at my bashfulness, a dimple appearing. “Okay then.”
When he releases me and steps back, I only barely stop myself from swaying toward him and starting the kiss all over again. But then the corner of the envelope shifts, digging into my leg, and I straighten suddenly, the reality of my situation crashing back into the forefront of my mind.
Heart in my throat, I rush the rest of the goodbye and hurry on to my counsel room, certain Silver is going to have questions for me later.
Hopefully by then I’ll have answers.
I take the steps of the West Tower two at a time before flinging open a pair of double doors at the top to reveal a simple, domed space, nothing inside but a large table in the middle and a circle of identical chairs.
The room is empty, and I exhale in relief, hastily locking the door behind me and shutting the curtains until the room is lit only with the low orange glow of a wrought iron candelabra that dangles above.
I’m not expecting anyone else.
My father had advisors, of course, but when I became Prime I dismissed them all.
I can’t trust them. Because either they approved of my father’s actions, in which case I don’t want their advice, or they were simply too weak to oppose him, in which case they’re no good to me.
I know I’ll have to gather a counsel of my own eventually, but finding the right people is difficult. It will take a little while.
In the meantime, I’ll just sort through everything myself.
My mind skips back to Livid, and how she said I was pretending. She’s not entirely wrong. I keep more secrets than I’d like.
Including the fact that she’s not the only part of me I can split from the rest of my body.
She was the first. The loudest.
I named her Livid because that’s what she is.
The worst of me. Angry. Hateful. I had to lock her up.
It was the only way to keep her from hurting anyone else.
The only way to keep myself from falling into the same traps that Alect, the cousin whose death gave me this power, set for himself.
He let his worst parts walk around unchecked, and they did awful things.
Things that he as a whole person would never have considered. Ultimately, they got him killed.
I won’t make the same mistakes.
But there are other parts of me that have made themselves known in the last few months of adjusting to this new power. Parts I do want to hear from, who have valuable thoughts and insights to add to my current dilemma.
And sometimes it’s easier to tackle a problem when I can separate myself and debate it out loud.
So I stand at the head of the table, look a little to my left, and split.
It’s . . . unpleasant. Like every single bit of me is ripping in half. Like something essential is torn from my soul, leaving a rupture.
But then there is a girl standing beside me, smiling softly with a mouth that looks like mine.
I call this one Heart, because that’s what she leads with.
She’s my kindness, my belief in others. The part of me that always looks for the good.
She has my face and body, but her outfit is different—a flowy dress instead of my pants and tunic.
When first summoned, she wears her hair in a ponytail that matches mine, but she immediately shakes it out into loose waves.
Then she draws me into a hug, and I take a moment to sink into it, cherishing her comfort.
When I pull back, she takes a seat, and I brace myself for the next one. Again, the sensation of ripping, the feeling of loss. And then there is Poise.
Poise is the embodiment of my diplomatic training.
She’s my most composed self, my best foot forward.
Her floor-length dress is tasteful and formfitting, and she quickly turns the ponytail into a complicated-looking twist. She carries herself with dignity and strength.
It makes me feel stronger just to look at her.
Summoning twice leaves me depleted, and my skin tingles as though I’ve just ripped off a scab that spanned my entire body.
Even so, I split again, enduring the ripping, tearing feeling one final time, until my last form, Asset, is standing by the table as well.
She’s my practical side. My planner. The one who can always figure out what needs to be done and execute it before the rest of us have even started trying.
She’s wearing pants as well, but they’re covered in pockets that are all crammed with useful things.
With efficient, purposeful movements, she winds her ponytail into a tight, utilitarian bun, mouth thin and eyes focused on me.
That’s all of us. We made the intentional decision to cap it at four. That way, unlike Alect, I won’t split myself into such small slivers that they’re barely even human anymore. I’ll be smarter than that.
“So,” I say, trying to focus. It can be hard to think clearly when they’re all out. I feel a bit like a painting stripped of its color, only outlines and smudges left. But enough to function. “Now that we know we’re not bound by any deals my father made . . . How do we respond to this?”
I take the letter out of my pocket and toss it on the table, where it lands with a quiet rustle that belies the weight of its contents.
We all look at it, grave.
There’s no need for me to tell them what’s in it. We share memories right up until we split. Which means they know the letter is from the Forest Realm, and they know exactly what it says.
Namely, that the Prime of the Forest Realm is dead.
That his successor, whom I have never met, will be coming to meet me at the end of the week.
And one more thing.
That he is asking for the highest demonstration of commitment to our alliance that it is possible for me, as Prime, to give.
Specifically . . . my hand in marriage.