11. Chapter 11
Chapter 11
Viola
I have a suspicious feeling that, when faced with imprisonment and isolation, most people would reflect upon the actions that got them to that point.
Not me.
I have spent fifteen days here, under the Palace, biding my time, waiting for my magic to break through the slag that is starting to feel like a part of my own skin.
I have been away from my team, my friends, my partners, and the man I love for fifteen days.
They're going to be so pissed at me.
But one worry at a time, Viola. Right now, my concern is how I will get out of here for good. I know Zeph and Cirrha have been working on a plan, and I think it's got a reasonable likelihood of success, but it hinges on me being able to escape my prison cell.
And so far, I am no closer to doing that than when I woke up here fifteen days ago.
I finish the entirely insufficient bath that I am provided with a rag and a bowl of water, and I change into a set of clean clothes Zeph brought me as he washed my others. Unfortunately, he brought me some sort of flowing jumpsuit in a shade of yellow that is sure to look awful with my white hair. Oh, and my decayed hands—I can't forget those.
Regardless, I slip into it, surprised at the comfort. The thin straps don't do much to hold up the bodice, and my sunfire branding is front and center. I quickly braid my hair in two plaits down the back of my head and look down at my body. I've grown thinner, my muscles unused while I've been here. The effect makes me look more demure than I have in a long time.
I'm tugging on my boots when I hear a noise outside my cell. I whip my head up and am surprised to see Himureal and Kon standing shoulder to shoulder and staring at me. "Well, isn't this a surprise," I say, dropping both feet to the ground and leaning my elbows onto my knees. I decide to forego the chest wrap in this outfit and Kon seems to be taking notice.
"Daughter, I hear you've met Kon?" Himureal says, gesturing to the man beside him. Himureal is blood and shadows today, in a crimson top and black pants that I am surprisingly envious of. Kon, on the other hand, is in a pair of rigid trousers and a stiff shirt with buttons leading to the neck.
Oh. Formal wear.
Kon is in formal wear.
"I have, father. What a delightful mate you've chosen for me," I coo, drizzling my words with a syrup Kon doesn't realize has been poisoned.
"Well, have I ever steered you wrong, my Shadowweaver?" His eyes glint with the secret he's hiding. Poor Kon, he doesn't know just how over played he has been.
He forgot he was dealing with two Gods.
"Never, Frostweaver." I rise, and Kon's gaze drags down my body lasciviously.
"I see that high priest of yours listened when I asked for him to get her some feminine clothing," he says to Himureal. "I did request a dress, but this is acceptable."
"It's all the rage now, I've heard, to do jumpsuits for weddings," Himureal adds. "And who better to set off a massive trend than the Shadowweaver?"
Wedding? Is that the line he's fed Kon?
Or has Himureal double-crossed me?
It didn't occur to me until now that he could be walking me into an actual wedding, not a farse, so I could put down the man who supposedly slaughtered my parents.
Still, I'm getting out of this prison. If I have magic, regardless of what is happening, I stand a chance at getting out of here. The men open the door to my cell and don't even wait for me to exit before heading out of the prison. The moment I'm out of the enforced box I have called home, I feel my magic sputter to life—not fully, but enough.
I call upon Shadow, and he arrives swiftly, materializing in a shadowed corner of the room and creeping up my body. "Go find Mace, Shadow. Find him so he knows I didn't leave him." The snake flits its tongue out to my nose and then is down my arm, back in the shadows, and hopefully on his way to the man I love and left behind.
Every step that leads me closer above ground feels like a weight falling from me. My magic flickers and then roars to life as soon as I take that final step. It almost takes me to my knees, the full rush of power that comes through me. The decayed veins on my hands pulse like blood is pumping through them. My sunfire burns briefly, but not enough to cause pain. It's just enough to remind me it's there.
And my hair, my thick, white hair, feels cool and lighter on my scalp.
Himureal turns around and looks at me, a broad smile on his face. "There she is. There she is. That is the Shadowweaver the people will want to see."
Kon turns and looks at me over his shoulder, shrugging. "She's passable now. We'll have to do something about that hair, though. Maybe we can dye it back dark. And she'll need some gloves, of course."
I meet eyes with the Frostweaver over Kon's head, and despite our differences, we can both agree that this guy is fucking insufferable.
Himureal leads us into the ballroom where the gala was held. But this time, it's empty of opulent decorations and tables loaded with delicate food and indulgent drinks. Instead of those things, there are rows of benches where fae sit perched, looking at the small dias ahead of them. It's got a large white birch throne carved with snowflakes and icicles and a smaller dark cherry throne beside it, carved with serpents with ruby eyes.
Gauzy black fabric drapes from the ceiling and frames the windows, and a huge chandelier drops down to the center of the room, glistening with red gems. Flowers line the rows of benches where the fae sit, small vases of red and white flowers gathered together.
I don't know what Himureal has planned, but I don't think I will like it.
The three of us walk through the center of the benches, and I spot a few familiar faces in the crowd. One, a Neried by the looks of her, sits at the front and looks at me through narrowed eyes. There's a man with a round face and bright blonde hair sitting in the back corner who can't take his eyes off of me, and I cannot remember if I know him at all. Regardless, I make my way to the dias, where Himureal places me in front of what is surely my throne and Kon opposite me.
"Greetings, citizens," Himureal says in a measured tone. "We are here today for a wedding—a joining that will bring strength and prosperity for ages to come. Kon, the Winter Champion, and Viola, the Shadowweaver."
The crowd applauds demurely. The mood in the room is somber.
I guess Ytopie isn't as much a fan of arranged marriages as I thought.
"But first," he continues, turning to look at me. "Daughter, I have a gift for you." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a rolled strip of leather. "As you are the first child of a God, I wanted to start a family tradition of such." He turns to look at Kon. "You don't mind, do you?"
What, is Kon going to say that he won't allow it? Of course not. No, he stands silent and gives a tight nod.
Himureal places the rolled piece of leather in my head. "Go on, open it." Carefully, I unwrap the leather, and my breath catches in my chest. I pull out the most beautiful blade I have ever seen. The hilt is firm and sturdy but cool to the touch and appears to be crafted from pure ice. The blade itself is black, with a curve that would perfectly wrap around the delicate flesh of someone's neck. It's got this essence about it, just like Shadow does, that it's not what it seems, and when I run my thumb across it and nothing happens to me, I understand.
"It's made of shadows," I say, gaping at Himureal. "The blade itself was formed out of shadows."
Himureal's face stretches into a wide grin. "I thought you'd love it."
"I really do," I tell him honestly. "I don't think I've seen a more beautiful blade."
It's moments like this that make me see what could've been with Himureal. He could've been a mentor, someone to guide me into my magic if it hadn't been for the way his brain was warped due to centuries of banishment.
"It is yours, daughter." He steps back, and looks back at the gathered crowd. "That blade is a gift for the next part of the ceremony. All weddings officiated by me required a reading of the blood for intentions. Since my daughter has the capability of doing that herself, I will give her the honors."
Finally, Himureal's plan is starting to come into shape in my mind. He should've told me what his goal was, but of course, things could not be that easy. I will read Kon's blood, execute him, and then we get to say that I am a cruel God but just, just like the Frostweaver. I don't have to marry Kon and he doesn't have to go back on his word when he promised me to him.
It's a beautiful plan. I almost wish I had some up with it.
Kon gulps. "Reading of my blood?"
I quirk my head to the side. "Don't you worry, my betrothed. It's easy." I step towards him and hold out my hand for his own. He keeps it firm-fisted at his side. "You deny me your hand? What is it in your blood you do not wish your future wife to see?"
The gathered crowd is whispering and shifting uncomfortably in their seats. It's the first time they've seen me presented as a God, and I need to keep in the back of my head that I need them to support me.
"Your hand, please, Kon," I demand, holding my own out. Again, he doesn't move to give it to me. I dart forward quickly and draw the blade down his cheek, cutting a line from brow to chin. He cries out, holding his hand over the wound. "I was just going to prick your finger, but it is clear that you have much to hide. I wonder what it could be."
I hold the blade up in the air, the thick blood dripping down the knife, dilating my eyes and begging me to taste. I stick my tongue out and drag the flat of the knife across my tongue, welcoming the vision that is sure to come.
The images come in flashes, images of women in tears, their bodies torn to pieces and nearly unrecognizable. I see his mother, an elderly woman with whom he brings food and sits with her twice a week. A trip into the woods surrounding Ytopie, chasing something, someone. Every memory is disjointed, but my stomach is churning, and I feel like I'm going to be sick. These aren't just intentions. These are memories. I ask the blood to show me my parents and show Kon killing the winners, and it shows me nothing but those sickening images of crying women.
Once again, the blood shows me what I need to know.
I come out of the bloodlust, swaying on my feet but with two truths.
Truth one: Himureal lied to me once again. Kon had nothing to do with my parent's death. He made that up to get out of marrying me to Kon.
Truth two: Kon is a fucking monster who needs to be put down today.
I wipe the blade on the leather wrap and look at Kon, smiling sweetly. From the corner of my eye I see the tiniest nod from Himureal, but I don't need his encouragement.
Rather than make a dramatic production of it, I walk to Kon's side and pull the blade across his throat without a preamble.
His life force falls heavy at my feet, and I don't try to avoid the splash when his body falls into it, gurgling. It splatters on the yellow jumpsuit in a grotesque painting of all of his wrongs. Half the gathered audience is on their feet, hands on their chest like what they've seen is so scandalous.
The fae value brutality but don't want to be so close to it.
I turn to address the people who came to a wedding, knowing I was not a willing bride, holding the still dripping blade by my side. "I may seem cruel but that was a just punishment. He stood in judgment and was found lacking. When it is your turn to stand before me, what will I find?"
Himureal comes up behind me and puts his hand on my lower back, ushering me out of the room as silent faces gape at us.
"Daughter," he says reverently, "you are breathtaking. I could not have done that better myself."
"Thank you, Father," I reply sweetly, hoping this was enough for him not to bring me back to the prison. "Could we go grab some food? I'm starving."
"I'll have some brought to your cell shortly."
I stop short and cross my arms over my chest. "No. I'm not going back, Himureal. I'm here. I told you I'm here, and I believe we can do this. Now that it's not just Winter magic, we are all this world needs. But that slag is making me sick. We do not know the effect long term exposure is going to have on my magic. I'm not good to you if my magic dies."
When I mention getting sick, a small flash of fear crosses his face. He nods. "I… okay. I agree. However, you will need an escort. I will have you wait in Zeph's office, and when I see him, I will send him to you. He'll be your escort from now… now on."
"That is very fair, Father." I'm laying it on thick, but he preens under it.
"I am just so happy that you are here you are here." His words repeat, which I've noticed happens when his emotions are higher. "I have been waiting so long for you." Without warning, he pulls me into a hug. He is thinner than I expected, but this is the first true contact I've gotten in two weeks, and I find myself sagging into it.
I get glimpses of the kind of God he must have been before. But that God was ruined, and what's left is a dangerous mess of power and fury. In the beginning, Himureal's intentions may have been pure, but his brain is too fractured now to hope that he can return to that version of himself.
He walks me to Zeph's office and closes the door, instructing me to stay there until Zeph comes for me. That can be done easily.
Zeph has a decanter of liquor, but it's slightly dusty like he hasn't drank in a while, and I pour myself a glass. I sip on it, enjoying the taste and the freedom I've been afforded.
I doze off at the desk, my feet propped up on it and leaning back, so when the door slams open I startle and fall to the ground. "Fucker!" I shout, jumping to my feet, blade brandished in front of me.
Zeph and Cirrha are there, gaping at me. "Get in, shut the door!" I say quickly.
"How are you here?" Zeph says, voice stuttering and eyes wide as he takes in my blood-covered clothing. I give them the short version of what happened with Kon.
Cirrha tells me about their journey to the village and the message they received. When she says Mace needs me, I'm already leaking shadows.
"Shit, hold on. Zeph, did you find the journal?" I ask, looking at my high priest.
He moves to the desk and pulls it out of a false bottom, handing it to me. I slip it into a pocket on the side of the jumpsuit. "Do you have your talisman?" he asks me. I pat my other pocket.
"Right here. Did you find any of my weapons? Himureal gave me this," I hold up the gorgeous blade, "but we don't know what we're walking into."
Zeph shakes his head slowly. "No, I couldn't find yours. I did get myself a blade, though."
"And you're sure you want to come?"
He balks at me. "I'm your fucking high priest, Viola."
I groan. "And as we've discussed, you can still do good things here."
"He'll kill me. When he sees you're gone, if I'm still here, he'll know I helped you, and he'll fucking kill me."
My mouth opens and closes silently. "Fair enough then. Cirrha, are you coming with us?"
"No," the strikingly pretty fae responds. "I'm going to stay and help Taegan drum up more support for you. Plus, you need someone you trust for Air messages."
"Thank you for your help, Cirrha. I won't forget it." She bows her head down low and backs out of the room, opening the door just enough to sneak through.
I look at Zeph and smile softly at where we've ended up. The first time I saw him, I thought he was handsome but that he looked terrified. Today, he is still handsome, that striking tattoo wrapping up his throat and disappearing under the neck of his shirt, but he no longer looks afraid. "Are you ready, high priest?"
Zeph looks at me with a broad smile and nods. "Where you go, I go, Shadowweaver. Remember, white stone building, red door, Feria."
I take his hand and, with a little more effort than usual because of the prolonged exposure to slag, I pull us into a shadow vision. I keep the description of the building in my mind as the magic swirls around us. When fully enclosed in shadows, I point towards the edge of the vision, where a red door waits for us.
"After you, Shadowweaver."