5. Chapter 5
Chapter 5
Zeph
T he exposed beams over my head have swirls within the wood that remind me of magic floating in the air.
How many drinks have I had at this point?
One for every one of my mistakes?
A sideways glance at the bedside table shows the blurry image of a half-empty decanter of liquor, my glass empty save for a few dregs clinging on the sides.
Close to two hours ago, I felt an abrupt tightening in my chest, a brutal pain that doubled me over on my patio that overlooks the Lowlands. I was out there, staring at the summit, and under no delusion that I could glimpse Viola, but it was helping me feel closer to her.
But that pain came on and threatened to cripple me, so I crawled to my bed, and here I am, still staring up, clutching her talisman stone to my chest, willing the pain to stop. It takes extreme fortitude to avoid pouring another glass and use that to escape the last day and a half of misdeeds, but I do it all the same.
I'm not sure when I decided to take Tulip hostage. I barely considered it; it just happened. She was a tool. The fear of losing Viola was visceral, and I was driving myself crazy with worry about it. I would've taken her place in the ritual if I could, but that was impossible, so the best I could do was try to convince her to leave with me.
What a miserable failure.
I put her only friend at risk.
There is no way she'll ever forgive me. How could she? I've seen her in her grief, her fury, her resentment. Now I have fucked up, and those venomous feelings will be directed at me the next time I see her.
Have I lost her forever? Is everything I am doing now pointless, and I am doomed to spend the rest of my life trying to convince her to see through that error in judgment and recognize that she is made for me?
Rolling onto my side and breathing deeply, I will the effects of the alcohol to help this pain in my chest dissipate. It must be guilt, I decide. I first felt it in the garrison, but tonight, it started when I was gazing over her homeland, and since my mind stays fixed on Viola, it won't lessen. The gray silk sheets I have wrapped myself in do nothing but remind me that Viola is sleeping out there on the forest floor somewhere.
What have I become?
What started as an attempt to free the people of Krillium with the truth of the world has culminated in me joining forces with a less than benevolent God to secure access to a woman who made it clear she doesn't feel the way for me as I do for her.
He's planning for a war. The Frostweaver is convinced that Viola will bring back the other Gods, and if that happens, a war will break out. While he says he can stop her from doing that, I can't help but have my doubts. Viola is not the type to let anyone change her mind. Once she's decided what she's going to do, she cannot be stopped. It's one of the things I love most about her.
Love.
That's what this is, right?
This pain?
The loss of her so acute, my love for her so great that it's causing me physical pain.
She chose Mace. She doesn't want me.
But Viola never gave me a fair chance. A dinner, that's all I'd need to help her realize the truth.
We're written in the stars.
At that thought, the feeling worsens, and I cry out in pain. The blankets on my bed light all my nerve endings on fire as if I can feel every thread. But I cannot bring myself to rise from the bed, and my body is not responding to my brain's commands. I writhe through the pain, willing it to give me a small reprieve for rest.
Eventually, once the pain in my chest starts to lessen, I roll back to a supine position, tracing the swirls in the beams with my eyes once more.
Partnership with Himureal is a means to an end.
I wouldn't do this if I had any other choice.
A means to an end, that's all.
And that end is Viola Mistflow by my side.
Fuck.
I am jolted out of a dreamless sleep by a loud noise that I cannot place, and I have no desire to as long as it stops.
It continues, loud and insistent, echoing throughout my home and shaking my teeth with every spark of sound. I realize what it is when it comes again after a too-short reprieve.
The rapping at my door continues to send blades of pain through my skull. I'm still fully dressed, too intoxicated and in pain last night to bother changing from my now rumpled gray linen shirt and cotton trousers. The clothes feel stiff on my body, holding my body hostage in the way they twist around my form. I can't get out of bed, the hangover weighing me down like anchors.
"I'm coming in, asshole."
The door slams open, and the stomp of heavy boots vibrates my teeth, heralding a visit from my dear old friend. Loris strides into my room; his face is a snarl, a fury that is without a doubt well deserved, coloring his skin a mottled red.
I cover my face with my hands, groaning at his imposition. "Fucking lower your voice, you monster."
He grabs my hands and pulls them away from my eyes, leaning so close to me we're almost nose to nose. "You need to tell me everything now, or I cannot help you, Zeph. You've clearly dug yourself in a hole here, and I need answers." His grip tightens around my wrists before he drops them and pushes away from me. "Plume is fucking missing, as are Mace and Viola, and I just know you're behind this despite the story you and that useless God have spun to the Patricians."
It looks like the gossip got out.
With great effort, I push myself against the head of the bed into a sitting position. My friend's normally spiked black hair falls loose around his face, his dark eyes practically glowing with barely restrained anger despite the purple crescents under them. He looks like he's just rolled out of bed, wearing a very uncharacteristic baggy white shirt and loose sleep shorts with his strappy boots. It's an absurd outfit, and I cannot believe he crossed the city dressed like that.
A laugh bubbles up in my throat. "You look ridiculous."
He shoves me hard, rattling my teeth in my skull with the impact. "Shut up and fucking talk, Zeph. The truth. Now."
I finally manage to push myself off of the bed, anger boiling in me as I snarl, "Do not touch me, Loris." On feet much shakier than I'd like, I walk to the kitchen and dig out a jar of loose tea. I pull out a mug and slam the cabinet harder than I intended, the bang of it rattling my eyeballs. "Do you want tea, asshole?"
"Of course I do."
After making tea for both of us, mine straight and his with milk and honey, and setting up some nuts and dried fruit on the table, I lower myself across from him. I've sat at this table with just about everyone in the city at some point, but none more than Loris. We stare at each other, unflinching, waiting to see who will break first.
It's a game we've played our entire lives.
I always lose.
"I'll tell you everything, but you have to let me talk. Don't interrupt me."
He stares at me expectantly, sipping from his cup silently. Somehow, without speaking, Loris manages to communicate his disdain. After a beat, I launch into the entire tale, catching him up since I last saw him. I tell him about the fight with Mace, catching him having sex with Viola, and even kidnapping Tulip. He can't help but interrupt there.
"You kidnapped her best friend?"
Shame colors my face. "I was never going to hurt her! I just needed leverage to get Viola to come with me. If I lost her…" My gut churns at the thought. Thinking of no longer having her in my life makes my skin itch and my chest ache. It's as if every part of my very being protests the idea.
Loris shakes his head, silent in his judgment of me. The look in his eyes all but confirms my fear that Viola will never forgive me.
But that doesn't mean I won't try until my last breath to earn her forgiveness.
Shamefully, I describe how Mace and Plume restrained me in the garrison, and I watched helplessly from a dark tunnel as Viola nearly bled out before me. The fear I felt watching the blood fall from her arm in a waterfall threatened to take me under. Despite my anger at Plume for supporting the ritual, when she healed that gash and kept Viola from fading from my life for good, I nearly sobbed with relief that she was there to help her.
And then I tell him about Himureal, Stone's death, and the fight for Morrow, Tulip, Plume, Mace, and Viola to leave the garrison and travel down the summit. I share my theories on what their plan is now that they have left the city.
Shamefully, I admit to my deal with the Frostweaver and our plan to get Viola back to Ytopie.
By the time my story is done, Loris is shaking, a level of anger I've never seen before on his face. He pushes away from the table and stalks toward the door, seemingly willing to throw away decades of friendship over my misdeeds without so much as a word. Our friendship has been one of the most stable things in my life, and I can't just let it walk out the door.
As he reaches for the doorknob, I call out his name, and he freezes. "Why did you call Himureal a useless God?"
He turns slowly, leaning his back against the door and crossing his arms. Despite the ridiculous combination of his large boots and his sleep clothes, he looks lethal, animosity coloring every inch of his body. His lithe figure is stretched due to his height, and many people would underestimate him.
It would be a mistake.
Loris is ruthless, and his command over Lightning may be the best in the city. I have never seen someone call forth such small, pointed bolts as him. Many practice for decades just to aim, and here he has taken something otherworldly and large and learned to direct it to the smallest target. Loris is not someone I would bet against in a fight. I have never been on the receiving end of this version of Loris before, and unsurprisingly, it's terrifying.
With a loud exhale, he finally speaks. "I've told you from the beginning I believe Viola is a God. If memory serves, you and the others called it a ridiculous notion. In fact, I remember getting yelled at about it by Mace at the gala. If what you say is true, that Himureal called her his equal, coined her as the Shadowweaver, and said she was made from him, then we now have two Gods of Winter." His large hand ruffles his hair. "I will not follow a God who lies to our people to further his own agenda. What good is he? And I will not trust his high priest," he spits the words at me, and I flinch, "who embraces a false narrative for his own gain. Not when a viable option that I have believed in from before she stepped foot in our city is right there."
My mind flashes to the awe Loris held towards Viola when we watched her slit Amio's throat, and my own tightens. Loris truly has supported Viola from the beginning.
He shakes his head at me, sadness now coloring every minute expression that flashes over his face before giving way to fury. I recognize what I see as a reaction to betrayal, and my head is spinning too much with the toxic combination of guilt and leftover alcohol to protest.
"I know which God I will choose to follow when the time comes. You need to make your choice and hope it's the right one, Zeph."