Chapter 26 Mance Without Livid
Mance ,Without Livid
Silver finds me on the parapets of the Lonely Tower. Despite its name, I’m only up here because it’s the best view of the surrounding area.
Certainly not because Silver and I had one of our first conversations on this rooftop, one that I have been replaying in my mind so vividly that when I see Silver emerging from the door that leads to the stairwell I initially think him only an extension of the memories I’ve gotten lost in.
When I realize he’s real, my creatures tumble over each other in a rush of emotions, embarrassment being only one of them.
Seeing him now and here, so soon and in the middle of so much, is overwhelming.
I want to run to him. I want to punch him.
I want to cry. But instead I only clutch the chain at my throat, then regret it when his eyes follow the movement.
“You’re still wearing it,” he says. I can’t read his tone. Is he happy? Disappointed? Judgmental? Amused?
I close my fist around the metal, as though to shield it from his view. I want to say that of course I’m still wearing it. That I tried to take it off, but I couldn’t bear to. That it’s still a testament to how I feel even if it’s no longer a testament to what we are.
But as before, when I try to put into words all the tumultuous, vivid things that I feel for the boy in front of me, my throat goes dry and I can’t get them out.
So finally I say, with both a sense of stubborn self-preservation and a sincere reluctance, “Listen. Now’s not . . . really a great time.”
He tenses and sticks his hands in his pockets but doesn’t stop striding toward me. “Why’s that?” he asks, voice low. Intense. Like quietly burning embers. Like the last time we were here, because we were enemies then. He didn’t trust me. He didn’t know me. Does he feel that way again now?
Instead of asking, I respond to his question. “Take a look,” I say, turning away from him and bracing my hands against the parapet.
He comes to stand next to me, and I get goose bumps on that side of my body at the feeling of him so close and yet not holding me.
At the fact that I don’t know how he would react if I reached out to touch him.
What I want is to kiss him. But I also want to run.
There’s even a small part of me that wants to throw him off the roof.
Mostly I just want to not feel this weird.
Rubbing my arms, I force my attention to the landscape below us.
There are four armies marching into our realm at once, all on different winding roads that skim the cliffside and end at the palace gates.
By some whim of chance, they are all arriving at the exact same time, each Prime bringing a modest retinue to symbolize the larger forces they are willing to contribute.
I’ve been studying them through a small pair of binoculars, which I now pick up and pass to Silver.
Our hands brush and I flinch.
He notices but pretends not to, and I keep my gaze forward, on the Primes traversing the cliff paths.
On the far left is the Grasslands Realm, dressed in tones of gray. Ash on their cheeks.
Next over is the Jungle Realm, wearing their magical armor, iridescent as a beetle shell. They wield spears with glowing heat rocks on their tips.
The Swamp Realm has uniforms hung with rope, and I have no doubt that rope will leap to life and strangle any enemies within reach.
Finally, all the way to the right, the Coast Realm comes with its own symphony, drifting on the breeze, tense and dramatic. Even from this distance, I need to fight to resist its pull.
I’m feeling plenty tense and dramatic as it is.
“I think . . . I think maybe I want to try to talk to them,” I force myself to say, hoping he’ll understand that I’m making an attempt to open up more, trying to include him.
Hoping the gesture will mean something to him.
“Before any fighting starts. Maybe it’s not too late for a peaceful resolution.
With all this might . . . maybe we won’t have to actually use it. What do you think?”
He’s unnaturally still beside me, and I don’t know if it’s because of what I said, because of what he’s looking at, or because of the enormous emotional weight that stands between us. Unbidden, my eyes burn and I have a sudden, awful fear that I’m going to start crying.
“Mance—” he says, and the word is urgent. Frightened.
I turn away from him and try to keep my voice steady, resisting the urge to wipe at my face. “Y-yes?”
He starts to answer, but a commotion at the gates draws my attention away. My head snaps in that direction and I stare, not understanding what I’m seeing.
Because the armies have reached the glass trees.
And they aren’t stopping.
With a single uplifted finger, Azele turns the glass to ash, marching through the resulting flurries with a singular recklessness.
The Prime of the Jungle Realm uses the oversized heat rock on his spear, which must be blazing, to melt the trees into misshapen, glowing orange puddles.
The Prime of the Swamp Realm unleashes ropes like tentacles, bringing trees down and tipping them until they emerge from the earth, dirt-encrusted roots exposed.
The Prime of the Coast Realm’s song reaches a crescendo, one loud and jarring enough to shatter the trees in her immediate vicinity to pieces.
“Wh . . . what is happening?!” I gasp.
Silver yanks on my arm, pulling me down and out of sight.
I land hard, my hip throbbing. “Mance,” he starts again, somehow even more frantic than before.
“They have vines in their eyes. Every single one of them. Kiar got to them; she must have implanted some kind of order. And if I had a guess as to what it is?” He looks back, through the arrow notch, and whatever he sees makes his face contort with anguish. “. . . I’d say they’re coming for you.”