Chapter 10 Silver
Silver
I never thought I’d need that soldier’s uniform again, the one Mance stole for me all those months ago. I’m not even sure where it is. But as I watch Asset disappear from the tower without even realizing I had come up behind her, I make a decision.
I’m not a real “wait around until you get back” kinda guy.
And I’m not one to abandon someone I love when they need me, either.
Even when I’ve seemingly been spurned. So rather than twiddling my thumbs here or trying to force Mance to talk to me while she’s clearly in problem-solving mode, I will be going to the Forest Realm, too.
Whether Mance wants me there or not.
It takes some digging (as in literal digging; my house is still half-submerged in dirt), but I find the uniform.
Stealing a horse from the royal stables is trickier, especially since I don’t technically know how to ride.
The entire sum of my experience is the times I have clung to Mance’s waist as she rushes us away from—or occasionally toward—danger.
But the lock is not hard to pick and Rooftop gets me some carrots from the kitchens to use as a bribe.
So I manage it. And it turns out that riding a calm, walking horse is significantly easier than riding one in acute emotional distress as it thunders forward in a panicked gallop. So I manage that, too.
And soon I’m falling into ranks as one of Mance’s soldiers, delving deeper into the forest than I ever have before.
At first I’m tense, trying to act the part of a soldier.
I watch my posture; I mentally review commands I learned at the Academy.
But after a few miles, when it’s clear no one is really questioning my presence, I relax.
Enough to turn my attention to Mance, simultaneously hoping she won’t see me and also wishing that she would.
Her expression shifts through multiple emotions as we ride.
Not blatantly. I can tell she has Poise with her, because she keeps up a careful facade.
But I quickly become addicted to watching the slightly downturned lips and subtly furrowed brow that belie internal turmoil. What is she thinking about?
Him?
. . . Me?
I wish I could read her mind.
I wish she would talk to me.
My gut clenches, and I rip my gaze away, opting instead to take in our surroundings. Because for the first several miles, the wreckage was as familiar to me as the back of my hand. But now . . . it’s starting to change.
Like the Outskirts, this land tells a story.
Mance’s father and grandfather came at the Forest Realm brutally, viciously, and Prime Gore defended his people with ferocity as well.
We ride through trees—both glass and organic—that have exploded, leaving gaping holes in the pulp of their trunks.
The dirt is so thick with shards that the horses’ hooves have been armored to endure it, and the clang and clink of metal on glass drifts eerily through the air.
We pass several hollowed-out bunkers and hastily constructed shelters where soldiers on both sides took their stands.
Every now and then there are bones sticking out of them.
None of that is new.
What I haven’t seen before, though, are the cities, and as soon as they rise out of the mists in front of us, I begin to understand why some believe them to be haunted.
They must have been beautiful once. The homes were built between the trees, incorporating the branches and trunks into the artistry of their architecture until it’s hard to tell what was constructed and what was natural.
There are soaring cathedral-like buildings with roofs made of branches and windows of twigs arranged to look like the patterns of stained glass.
Everything is made from wood, either raw or polished, and it’s clear that carving was a popular profession, because every wall, balcony, porch, and rooftop is covered with designs and statues.
Lifelike wooden creatures and intricately designed flowers.
I can see how the city would have once felt bursting with life and joy.
It now stands completely ransacked. As the tide of the war began to turn, our realm’s armies made raids into the city, pushing civilians back into the trees.
It’s easy to see where homes were abandoned on short notice, doors hanging open, and even easier to tell where conflicts erupted during the flight, with broken porches and shattered windows.
All the houses have a chilling, macabre feel, as quiet and lifeless as the six dead realms. And the carvings feel sinister, like the statues stand in judgment of us as we walk by.
I sneak another glance at Mance, who has let some of the sorrow she clearly feels at our surroundings leak into her eyes. It makes me feel guilty for not having the same reaction. I wonder what it’s like for Mance, always having more compassion to give.
Forcing my eyes away from her, I try to see our surroundings the way Mance must. I imagine the people who fled the city trying to hold this ground. I imagine them failing, their homes eaten up by soldiers and war and death. By trees they couldn’t carve into something beautiful.
I know that if any part of her is considering marrying Reltas, it’s to keep more destruction like this from happening, and I wish I could understand that kind of selflessness.
But I’m not selfless, and even just envisioning them standing together at an altar brings an awful, gnawing pain to my chest.
When we finally arrive at the new Forest Realm, the one constructed in the last ten years on what little land was left after the borders of the Cliff Realm’s victory were drawn, it’s a shock.
Compared to the soaring buildings of the original city, it’s small and ramshackle at best. Not trusting the ground, all the structures have been moved into the heights of the towering trees, largely hidden from sight, except for the rope bridges strung between them.
The only point of beauty is the castle, an enormous wooden structure built around several lofty hickory trees. Though, in the last stages of winter, the branches are stark and bare, revealing a castle in disrepair. Even falling apart in some places.
Still, there is a dignity to the edifice. It stands tall, daring anyone to judge it for its state.
And Prime Reltas stands in front of it, with a similar angry pride.
My lip curls at the sight of him, and I clench the reins hard in my fists, which seems to irritate my horse, because she tosses her head and nickers at me in a “do you mind” sort of way.
As we approach, there’s a large crowd already gathered.
They’re dressed like they’re preparing for a battle, with earth-colored paints on their faces and swords strapped to their sides.
I don’t know if the intimidating attire is just for Mance’s arrival, or if this is how they dress all the time.
If fighting has become such a part of their culture that they never put their weapons down.
Reltas moves through the crowd, and they part for him, clearly respectful toward their leader. Mance straightens her shoulders and slides off her horse to meet him. And when they stand face-to-face, both in full realm regalia, my heart clenches.
They look good together. Right.
As soon as I have the thought, something dark sears through my stomach, and I wish I could unthink it.
But it’s there. Suddenly, I’m overly conscious of the dirt under my nails, the way my hair never stays flat.
The fact that these two people each have dozens standing behind them pledging loyalty, and meanwhile I’m just some guy.
Out of deference to my horse, I don’t pull on the reins again. But I do bite the inside of my cheek until it throbs.
“Welcome,” Reltas says, spreading his arms wide. “To the Forest Realm. Or what’s left of it, anyway. I trust your journey was pleasant?” There’s a cruel slant to his lips that tells me he wanted Mance to see the horrors in the space between their realms. To atone for the sins of her family.
She notices it, too. But instead of viewing it as manipulation, as I do, her gaze softens. Like she’s glad she got to see his hurt.
I have to look away for a minute.
“It was illuminating,” Mance says quietly. “But I’m sure my people are wearied. Can you have someone show them to their quarters, please? Meanwhile, I would like to see my father as soon as possible.”
Reltas doesn’t respond right away, and I turn back in time to see the tail end of a smirk and some kind of coded gesture to the guards, who then disappear from behind him into the castle. “Of course. He’ll be out in just a moment,” he says.
I don’t like the way he says it, all smug and self-assured.
So it doesn’t surprise me when, instead of strolling out the front doors, Merod instead appears at an upper window of the castle, well out of reach. He props his chin on one hand, looking infuriatingly nonchalant, and I can’t stop a sneer from curling across my face.
There are plenty around me with worse reactions. The crowd at large hisses, even boos, many clutching the weapons at their sides as though barely restraining themselves from flinging their blades at their enemy’s face. In the middle of the mob, Mance’s back visibly straightens.
Reltas, on the other hand, remains cheerful. “There you go. You’ve seen him. Happy?”
I could strangle this guy.
Mance, infinitely more patient than I am, purses her lips. “I was hoping to speak to him, actually. Preferably in private.”
Reltas makes a face of exaggerated regret, but whatever he was about to reply is cut off when Merod says, “I have no interest in speaking with you, Mancella. You wanted to be Prime? Then act like one. Handle your own messes. I told you the world was hard, and you thought you could hug and smile your way through it anyway. Well, now you’ll learn.
Now you’ll see what power really is. I hope you don’t regret taking it. ”
Mance doesn’t react obviously, but she does draw in a breath and hunch her shoulders ever so slightly. Meanwhile, I’m trying to glare a hole into the side of Merod’s head.
Wait.
For a second, as Merod turns away, his eyes snag my attention.
There’s something . . . off about them.
As soon as I realize it, he’s already gone, and I question whether it was anything, after all. I can’t even put a finger on what it was that gave me pause. I just know that when I looked at his eyes, they felt . . . wrong.
Mance is already back in conversation with Reltas, asking tersely whether she could schedule a meeting with her father in the morning.
“Doesn’t seem like he wants you to,” Reltas taunts. “I wish I could help, but I don’t control the man.”
There’s a brief spark of something in Mance’s expression, but she shields it quickly.
“Fine,” she says, her tone becoming curt.
“Then let’s talk about something you do control.
” She brandishes a pretty-looking piece of stationery in a manner that seems completely at odds with its delicate lace and pearls.
“You set the date of our wedding for six days from now?”
My leg jerks, accidentally prompting my horse to surge forward and I have to duck my head while I get it under control in case either of the arguing Primes glances over. The mare gives me a look like she is absolutely over my nonsense, but this time I’m not paying attention.
Because . . .
Six days?
The words are a gut punch, one that momentarily takes the wind out of me. I don’t think any one sentence has ever caused me so much physical pain.
Until Reltas’s response.
“I think we should discuss that in private. Shall we go up to our chambers?”
My head snaps up, in time to see shock on Mance’s face as well.
“Our—?!” She seems to choke on the word, but it’s nothing compared to how I’m feeling.
Which is rage.
My mind goes blank. I can’t even hear the rest of their conversation, because the blood rushing in my ears is too loud, too overwhelming.
All I can see is his hand on her arm, gripping way too tight, pulling her toward the privacy of the palace.
And she’s frowning, her jaw clenched hard, looking like she wants to rip her arm back.
But she doesn’t.
She looks around, at the surrounding crowds, their watching eyes and waiting weapons. She wipes her expression blank.
And then she goes with him, disappearing into the crumbling castle by his side.
I, on the other hand, am frozen in place, stomach churning and my fists so tightly clenched that my nails are biting into my skin.
Is this . . . a joke? It must be a joke.
I think about the first time I shared a room with Mance, on an ivy-covered boat in the woods.
I think about the way I devoured the sight of her, the way I held myself back out of a desperate attempt to hurt her as little as possible, to care for her as best I could in the awful circumstances we were in.
I remember how much it meant to me, even though I was still fighting it, to feel her beside me in the night.
To have her warmth curled around me, a shield against the chilly air. My candle in the storm.
That night felt sacred.
And now Reltas—murdering, rage-filled Reltas—thinks he can have that place beside her? Thinks he can demand his way into her bed?
I am going to stop this from happening.
Even if I have to burn the whole palace down to do it.