Chapter 17 Mance, Without Livid #2
And those who do are often broken by it. Will I be, too? Will I not be strong enough?
I experience a glimmer of hope when we approach the border of what used to be the Desert Realm.
I’ve never been this far north, but I’ve heard stories.
And aren’t there guards posted around the perimeter, specifically to prevent unauthorized people from gaining access to the Citadel?
I know each realm is obligated to send some troops to serve in the role, and the vows they undertake are severe.
Surely they’ll stop my carriage. After all, I don’t have a single drop of royal blood.
A great wall rises on the horizon before us, and my heart leaps.
But then the gate creaks open, without a scrap of interrogation or fanfare. The guards stand in formation on either side, seemingly completely unconcerned with our entrance.
“Hey!” I scream out the window as we approach. “They’re breaking the Treaty! We shouldn’t be here! You guys have one job!”
Not a single one so much as looks my way. They just continue standing stiffly at attention, facing forward.
It’s not until I get close enough that I see why:
Their eyes are filled with vines.
Just like mine.
The driver snickers at me and the carriage rattles on.
Mance, Without Livid
My train and veil drag through the dirt, catching petals and grime alike. The flowers that line the aisle are in shades of deep burgundy and ash gray, nothing like the vibrant sunset hues in the pouch tucked into my bodice.
And then all too soon I am there. At the altar, standing across from Reltas. Nothing and no one to save me.
I bite my lip.
Saying no means starting a war, and how could I be so selfish? How could I put my people through that, again, after vowing to them that my reign would be peaceful?
I remember Petrice telling me that I needed to decide which sacrifices I was willing to make, and when it’s my own comfort pitted against the very lives of my people . . .
There’s no choice at all.
Even if I wish there were.
A lump forms in my throat and tears prick at my eyes when I come to the decision. It doesn’t seem like Reltas is waiting on me anyway, though.
Without preamble, he takes out a knife, drags it across his hand, and holds it over the altar, letting his blood drip onto the stones.
My creatures writhe.
For Primes, a wedding is serious. Irrevocable.
It’s more than the tying together of individuals, it’s the binding of realms. Which is why instead of stated vows, we ceremonially mix our blood together on an altar, to symbolize the joining of bloodlines and the alliance of our peoples.
This altar was built from wood and stone, another symbol of our two realms joining, and it’s lovely, even with the speckles of scarlet that now mar its face.
Reltas wipes the knife off on a white handkerchief, staining it with dark streaks. Then he passes the knife to me.
Silver
The ground beneath us turns from solid stone to soft sand, and the going gets slower as the wheels stutter and sink.
Dragging out the inevitable. If I’m going to be forced into a mass of twisted, dark magic no matter what I do, then I’d rather get it over with.
The abandoned city around us reflects my own crumbling hopes.
Buildings half toppled and streets disintegrated beneath our wheels. Ruins in every direction.
Until there aren’t. As we draw farther into the city, parts of the ruins have been fixed up, with temporary wooden structures constructed on top of incomplete sandstone walls.
Tents have been erected in alleyways. And there are people in them.
Scores of them, presumably all of whom are either waiting for a chance to enter the Citadel or have already gone in and come back out.
Reltas has a whole base camp out here. An entire operation. This is where the hoard of magical items came from; they are literally farming people into magical resources. And even weirder, the people don’t seem to mind.
To my right, the ground is shaking and a woman is toppling buildings into rubble.
To my left, there’s a void in the side of a wall that temporarily blinds me when I look at it.
I see one man grow enormous vulture wings and take flight, circling above me, only his feathers are spears.
I see another making a slash in the sand and opening it like a door, with a strange, shadowy pit below.
The carriage crunches to a halt, and my body jolts up as soon as it does, my legs unfolding and my arms unlatching the door before we’re even fully stopped.
A few people look at me in alarm, clearly recognizing me as an outsider, but as soon as they see my eyes, they relax and return to whatever they were doing. I walk easily around them, their faces blending together as my attention is pulled forward.
Because there it is.
The Broken Citadel.
And somehow, in the middle of everything else, it still has the power to stagger me.
Mance, Without Livid
The lace of the dress feels tight around my neck, and I pull at it with my fingers. It reminds me of the ropes that bound Asset in the Swamp Realm. Of the suffocating dirt Heart inhaled in the Outskirts. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.
But I wrap my fingers around the knife, my hand touching Reltas’s for a brief moment, before he draws back. I try not to flinch at his haste.
The blade now clutched in my fist, I draw in a ragged breath.
Now’s the part where I’m supposed to cut my hand, too, and yet I’m frozen.
I will myself to make the wound, but my arm doesn’t move at all.
It’s irreversible if I do this. It’s forever.
But I have to.
I have to.
Silver
I’ve seen the Citadel’s light on the horizon all my life. But I never thought I’d be standing in front of it. I never thought the colors would be so vivid, the pull so enticing, the tang of magic in the air so strong.
I lean my head back and look at the acidic green lights arcing through the sky as my feet drag me closer and closer.
They are the color of poison, but I didn’t know that the magic closer to the core of the Citadel was darker, more like a shadowy pit or the depths of an ocean.
It stands like a blot against the clear blue sky.
Is this it?
Will this be my last glimpse of the sun?
And even if I do manage to come out . . . will I still be me? Or will I be changed so irrevocably that I don’t even recognize myself?
Will Mance recognize me?
Will she still want me after this?
Will it even matter, or will she be a married woman by the time I see her next?
Questions race through my mind as my stomach clenches in panic.
And my feet just keep plodding forward, uncaring.
Mance, Without Livid
For a moment, Silver’s face sears itself into my mind, and it’s like I’ve taken the knife to my stomach instead of my hand.
Why did I suddenly get such a bad feeling?
Who am I kidding; nothing about this feels good. I’ve had foreboding premonitions ever since I stepped into the square.
But this one feels different. Suddenly, the creatures beneath my skin are rioting. Something’s wrong. Something bigger than I know.
“I, um . . .” I swallow, looking around. Taking in all the eyes still latched onto me. “I—” I cast around for something, anything to stall the proceedings long enough for me to at least catch my breath.
“You’re taking too long,” says an exasperated voice behind me.
I whip around, grateful for any distraction or delay, even a condemning one.
Kiar stands there, her mouth dour and her eyes angry.
Her white hair has been done up in a nest of hasty braids interspersed with leaves and flowers, even more of them than usual.
And in her hand, there is something small and oblong.
It looks like a seed.
“Hold still,” she says, darting toward me.
Silver
For all my struggle, it’s only moments before I pass through the door of the Citadel, plunging into its powerful depths.
And the very second I do, Kiar’s magic wears off.
There’s a tingling on the inside of my skull and a burning in my eyes as the plant that sprouted withers and dies. Bits of dried vine flake away as I blink and the muscles of my legs unlock.
I spin on my heel and lunge back toward the door, arms outstretched, but it disappears before I can reach it. The last thing I see is the Forest Realm citizens jeering from the midst of the ruins.
And then blackness.
I knew there would be blackness. I’ve heard Mance talk about this experience in terse generalities. So I expected to be plunged into a place without light.
But I didn’t know the blackness would . . . see me. I didn’t know that it wasn’t empty.
And I’ve never been seen like this. Since the day Prime Merod took my parents, my life has been a series of facades, and I don’t know that I’ve really shown my full self to anyone. Only parts of me, different masks.
Like Mance has, I suppose.
But this darkness sees it all.
Every part, every memory, every thought.
I want to hide, but there isn’t anywhere to take cover. I want to run, but there is no escape.
I don’t want to be scared, but as I feel the magic probe me, I am terrified. This magic is so much more powerful than I am. And so much darker than I know. Literally. Figuratively. In every way.
The waiting is agony.
Then all at once, the magic rushes in.
And it turns out the waiting wasn’t so bad, after all.
Mance, Without Livid
Then—just before Kiar reaches me—a familiar dagger flies through the air, slicing her fingers, and blood sprays across my face. She cries out, shaking her hand and spattering even more crimson spots onto my pristine white dress.
“Get away from her,” a voice screams from above me. “Or I will burn this whole city to the ground.”
My stomach flips and my eyes search the trees for the speaker, but even before I find her, I already know.
Livid.
There she is, crouching in the branches like a wild creature, her hair hanging in her face and her glare piercing. Predators appearing around her, growling deep in their throats.
My stomach flips and then plummets.
Our eyes meet.
And hers look furious.