1. Chapter 1
Chapter 1
Viola
I t is a bit of divine humor that after ten years of participating in the Race, my winning would necessitate trekking through Gallant Summit once more, a perversion of the fate I spent my life trying to avoid.
Really, humor has nothing to do with it. I'm here because Himureal, the Frostweaver, the God of Winter, returned to the world on the back of my blood sacrifice. Despite our hopes, he was not a God who would return the others to this plane, restoring magic, peace, and harmony to Krillium. Instead, he is the God who seeks to extinguish the light of the other Gods and rule the land.
With me at his side.
Just the thought of it chills me.
I'll admit, at first, Himureal seemed charming. He had an undercurrent of sinisterness, but Mace has that sometimes, and I've learned that there can be a good use for that. I was able to ignore that gut feeling at first when he tempted me with blood and knowledge.
It's selfish of me, but I admit to wanting to know him and more about this magic that runs through my veins. Looking at him, I see so much of myself, which admittedly scares me.
But it also excites me a little because, for the first time in a long while, I don't feel so alone.
Whether that feeling can be attributed to the return of a God who seeks to be a father figure to me or the group of people who traipse along with me through this forest, I cannot be sure.
I glance down at my arm where Shadow, my shadow that turned into a snake, is curled up and sleeping, a tightly wrapped gauntlet of magic. If I can create a living creature, what are the limits of what I can do? I stroke my finger down his head, and he tightens ever so slightly.
The chaos of this situation, the rush to make my decision to serve as a vessel, and the push of Himureal to join his side once he returned dulled my senses to how twisted my whole time in Ytopie had been. To who I was before I left Gallant Mountain with Max's body on the ground.
Does that woman even exist anymore?
I glance to my left, where Mace Nightroot walks beside me. He gives me a lopsided grin, his pointed chin cocking to the side with the gesture. His dark hair sticks to his forehead with sweat, the ends curling up over his ears with moisture. He hasn't changed since I slept with him yesterday, but I feel like I am seeing things more clearly now than I was then. We've talked at length about his participation in Stone's schemes, and I know the guilt he carries with him because of it. Guilt is something I have become intimately familiar with, skilled at holding within myself .
I don't think Mace is the same way. The way he is holding himself, shoulders slightly slumped, fingernails pressing crescent moon marks into his palms, makes me think this may be a foreign emotion for him. He thinks he's a monster.
But what is a monster?
A monster kills innocent people. If that is the only definition, Mace qualifies. The blood of innocents drips off his conscience.
What if the monster had a good reason for their slaughter? Are they still a monster?
I suppose that depends on what definition is used for good.
One could argue that I have had my monstrous moments. But would I consider myself good?
The introspection makes me squirm.
"Do you consider yourself a good person?"
Mace stumbles at my words. Tulip, Plume, and Morrow are behind us, talking and laughing as Mace and I lead the group through the forest at the base of Gallant Mountain. Luckily, Mace was able to use some of his Geomancy magic to carve us a safe passage down. That one display of magic had to have saved us two days of descending the Summit. He glances back at them as if looking to be sure none of them are listening.
"No, I do not. Why?" His voice is clipped and matter-of-fact, and his words lack emotion.
For some reason, that answer warms me, and I turn to face him fully. "Why not?"
A deep sigh raises his chest, and he runs his hand across his face. "Oh, I don't know, Viola. Maybe the fact that I spent my life orchestrating an event that directly led to the deaths of an untold number of people to bring back a God that now seems hellbent not on saving the world, like I thought he would be, but controlling and ultimately destroying it?"
The sharp tone in his words should wound me, but instead, it soothes me to know he feels so strongly. "You didn't start the Race. You continued something on the word of a man who meant so much to you."
"I agreed to it, Viola. There was a time when I reveled in the power it gave me. Only towards the end, after decades of nothingness, did I begin to question our methods. And look where it got us! Stone is dead, your parents are dead, Link is dead, and so many unknown Lowlanders are dead because I blindly believed in…"
"In Stone," I interrupt. "You believed in a man who was as good as a father figure to you, who you trusted. You believed his motivations were as pure as yours were." I hold my tongue at the memory of what I saw in Stone's blood, the truth of some of his motivations. The sadness in Mace's green eyes tells the story of a broken man who has had his entire worldview crumble before him. I cannot allow him to carry the burden of knowing what I do. But there are layers to his gaze, and beneath that sadness is anger. Whether it is at me for asking the question or the situation, I cannot tell.
The setting sun casts oranges and purples through the land, the trees in the forest filtering the light down on us in flashes of shadows. Behind us, Tulip calls out, "Hey, not all of us have unnaturally long legs! We can't keep going much longer. Can we make camp?"
I glance at Mace through the corner of my eye and see his jaw ticked tight with frustration and underlying shame leftover from our interrupted conversation. Before I respond to Tulip, I grab his arm. "If you're a bad person, Mace, join me in the club. You did some bad things, but at least the reasoning was sound." He doesn't give me a smile, unable to accept my words when I was the one who sent him on this spiral.
"We don't have anything to make camp with," I say to Tulip as I stop walking and turn to face her. Here, between the trees, with weeds and rocks and branches underfoot, I catch a glimpse of the scared girl who stumbled into my clearing. She's still wearing clothes gifted to her by Mace in Ytopie: a pair of linen pants, a wrapped blouse, and, thankfully, ankle boots and not sandals. ''We're going to have to hope our luck is as good going down as it was going up and search for a cave or something."
Plume, with a sheepish expression, rubs her hand on the back of her neck. "Actually, Zeph worked with some Geomancers to get those caves put in. He was trying to get as many people in the arena at once as he could, so his priority was to keep Racers safe. He wanted to tell everyone… well, what we all learned, really."
I swear silently at the reminder of Zeph, the memory of him holding a bound Tulip lighting a fire within me. He may have done some kind things, but when push came to shove, he acted rashly and selfishly and put someone I care about in danger, and I can never forgive that.
Morrow shoots Plume a look of confusion, his dark braids falling off his shoulder and down to his back with the movement. "I figured the Gods were gone when we brought the Frostweaver back. What else am I missing?"
Mace stiffens beside me, back still to the group. I reach out to him, and he pulls away from me. The action makes me regret my earlier line of thought. I was attempting to assuage my guilt at my feelings towards him with the things we've both done. In doing so, I sent him into his mind where the regret of what he did has claws to pin him down.
"She means that the expendables were a false sacrifice, and the winners of the Race were cut down in their moment of victory, all because we thought no Winter magic could be here in order to bring back Himureal. As he was so kind to inform us, that was unnecessary as long as someone he could see as an equal found the seed that anchored him. I wasted time and lives for a God who only cares about his own fucked up agenda." The poison in Mace's voice almost convinces me not to touch him for fear of it seeping through my skin.
Almost.
"All of the ideas came from Stone, not Mace. Stone manipulated Mace into doing what he believed." As I speak, I put my hand on his arm again, and though he tries to yank away from me, I hold tighter. "If you all will give us a moment."
I pull Mace's arm, leading him away from the group and behind a copse of trees where we can speak on our own. "If I thought asking you a simple question would hurt you so much, I would not have."
He sneers at me, reminding me so much of the Mace Nightroot who stood on a stage and taunted me about the Race. Reflexively, I coil back from him, dropping his arm and fixing my face in a pointed glare. I feel Shadow crawl up my arm to rest on a tree branch above my head as if readying himself to drop on Mace.
Mace slumps against the tree to his back, expression immediately softening. "I'm sorry, Viola. You brought to the surface thoughts that I have pushed down and fought with for years. You can blame this on Stone all you want if that helps you sleep at night, but make no mistake – I was not an unwilling participant. When asked plainly if I am good, it is abundantly clear that I am just not."
I lean against a tree opposite Mace, the bark scratching my shoulders. With practiced indifference, I cross my arms, prop a leg up behind me, and stare him down. "And neither am I. I can blame my parents and my upbringing all I want, but I am inherently selfish. I'm not ashamed of it. It's kept me alive. My entire time in the Race and even outside it, now that I think about it, I have cheated, stole, deceived, and even murdered."
"Amio doesn't count; he would've come after you, and you know it. You read it in his blood."
I shudder at the memory, hindsight revealing the magic I didn't know was within me that bloomed in that cave. "Okay, I'll give you the murder. But I did steal from someone who was nothing but kind to me. I pilfered people's campsites while they slept and manipulated Max," my voice cracks on her name, "to get my way. We are all flawed, and your motivations at least were true. Mine were not so honorable."
He rubs his large hand across his face once more, smudging dirt on his cheek down to his chin. "I can't be let off the hook that easily, Viola. My actions killed hundreds of people."
I use my propped foot to push off the tree and propel me towards him. "You won't be. You have my people, your people, and your Gods to answer to. Maybe they will be understanding, maybe not. But here, in these woods, with all of us? You have a chance. Don't blow it."
That smirk, the one that heats my core and makes my head spin with desire, finally graces his face. He puts his hands on my shoulders and spins me, pressing my back against the tree he was just slumped upon. His arms cage me in, and he dips his head to speak close to my mouth. "If only you forgive me, that would be enough." He presses his lips on mine as the birds chirp and creatures skitter across the ground. The sounds of the forest are the background of our passion, my arms easily wrapping around his body to take his tongue into my mouth. My mind travels to his office, how it felt to be sprawled out across his desk, legs wide as he slid between them…
In the distance, a bolt of lightning cracks, and a fine mist of rain starts to fall. We pull apart, looking up at the seemingly cloudless sky. "Where did that come from?" I wonder out loud.
"Oh, didn't you know? When you guys are intimate, your magic seems to go a little haywire." We both startle at Plume's melodic voice. I look behind the tree to find all three of our companions standing there, Tulip barely containing her laughter.
"What do you mean haywire?" Mace asks, still pinning me to the tree. I wiggle underneath his arms to stand beside him. He gives me a look that promises retribution for my daring to leave his body's cage. I vaguely feel Shadow sliding back around my arm. At this point, it's so routine that I hardly notice it.
Plume barely fights a smile, crossing her arms as she looks us both up and down. "You haven't figured it out yet? Nimh told me when she was telling me Zeph caught the two of you -"
"Zeph caught what?" Mace interrupts, his voice wild as he looks at me.
I rub my hand across my face. "I was going to tell you, of course. But with the whole growing a God from my blood thing, I forgot. Zeph was apparently spying on us in your office when we…"
"I know what we did!" he huffs, stomping away. He doesn't stay gone for long before stalking right back, rotten leaves and limbs cracking in his wake. "Well, this is mortifying. Thanks Plume."
Tulip and Morrow roar with laughter now, and while Plume is composed, I am not. I chuckle under my breath at the usually orderly man before me, who is blushing with fierce embarrassment. Plume clears her throat and begins again. "It appears that something in your magics gets a little wild when … combined. Apparently, it happened during your first kiss, too. "
My mind drifts back to that night in Mace's home, how the storm started when our flirting reached a fever pitch, and I felt like I was losing control of myself. The tension between us that evening was so thick, and it seems our magics responded to it.
"What does this mean, Plume?" I ask, my eyes locked on Mace as his face returns to its normal shade.
"Unsure. It hints that Winter may have some dominion over Water, but I've never heard of magic going rogue like this, so there is no telling what it is."
"That's because magic doesn't go rouge," Mace interjects. "Magic is calculated, requires exact intentions, is predictable, and does not have a mind of its own."
I tilt my head up to the sky, letting the light rain wash my skin of the mistakes we made to end up here.
"I think we both know my magic is anything but predictable."