10. Chapter 10
Chapter 10
Mace
T he halfway-broken door slams behind me just in time to cover the ragged, gasping breaths that leave my body as soon as I am in the sun.
My childhood was one of privilege. My father was a Patrician, and my mother was a well-regarded Summer when it came to shielding. It afforded us a place of respect within the community. Zeph and I wanted for nothing. We would play in fields all day, come home and eat a huge dinner our mother cooked, and then she'd usher us to baths to clean off the grime of the day. She would sing us songs of her invention and tell us stories until our father came home, and then he'd lay with us in our bed and tell us the history of our world. Zeph would fall asleep first, but I would stay up and pepper my father with questions until he eventually told me to shut up and go to sleep.
We were so wildly, blissfully happy.
My back presses against the wall of Viola's home, it's peeling paint no doubt sticking to my shirt. The home is the size of my bed chambers, sparsely filled with furniture that is at risk of breaking at any moment. I was convinced Viola would end up sprawled on the floor when she hopped on the paltry excuse for a table. I tried to keep it subtle, but with a single quick sweep of my gaze across the room, lingering on the lumpy bed with a threadbare blanket, my heart shattered.
This is the life Viola lived, and this is what she was trying to escape when she fell into my arms.
In Ytopie, we convince ourselves that we are doing what the Gods want, and we barely think about how the Lowlanders must be living. I'm one of the only fae who ventures down here, and even then, I only stand on a stage in a field. I haven't seen the towns and how the people live. Sure, we have teams of fae who sweep cities looking for people who should be Racing but aren't, and then those who collect the expendables, but it's a small group selected by Stone, and they are steadfast in their silence on what they see. I'm not even sure of their names.
None of us knew how they really lived.
None of us really cared how they lived.
No wonder they're so desperate to win the Race that they'd kill.
Being in her house felt remarkably intimate. It felt like I was looking through a window that someone had accidentally left the curtains open on. I feel like I know Viola on a much deeper level now, but with that knowledge comes a current of disgust at myself.
She was fleeing a life of loneliness and abject poverty. Her parents abandoned her, and she made her own way, with the only goal being to get to a place where she could live comfortably because her reality was so bleak. She was assaulted during a Race that I orchestrated. She didn't say as much, but I could tell that was what happened with her reaction the first time she came to my home. She talked to a chicken as a companion. She had to collect the eggs she should've eaten for trade.
It's not a life. It's survival.
No wonder she didn't want to run and disappear when she was given the option to avoid the ritual. A life on the run, probably living in a small village outside of a larger city, barely scraping by and having to avoid detection for missing the Race?
The desperation she must have felt.
And Tulip. Her talks of baths and the amount of food she ate make so much sense now. She was dirty and starving her entire life. I'll never know how she manages to stay a beacon of positivity with all she went through.
As if the guilt and realization of what these people, whose only crime is not being born fae, go through wasn't enough, Viola shared the story of Max's curse.
Every word she spoke threatened to rip my heart from my chest. I choked down that awful mead in an attempt to numb the aching I felt at the raw pain in Viola's voice. The joy with which she greeted that fucking chicken should've been my first clue that her life was not enviable.
I squeeze my eyes shut against the morning sun, but also to stave the onslaught of tears that threaten to come. Of course, my desire to bring Himureal back was always to restore glory to the land, but I didn't realize how much help this world needed that we could have been providing all along .
What good is my magic of Prosperity if I don't use it? I could've worked with the Spring fae to help boost harvests, increase currency, or do anything other than plan a Race that killed the people of the Lowlands.
"Did I do something to offend you?"
Her voice is sharp, and if I opened my eyes, I am sure she'd be staring me down, her hand on her hip, that ever-present snake on her arm, and a withering glare trained on me. Things have felt uncomfortable between us since Viola confided so much in me on the stag, and it feels like there is still so much unsaid hanging heavily between us. Could sexual desire really be all she feels towards me?
It's not like I deserve more.
During the illusion of Morrow's house, I thought for a brief moment that she was warming towards me again. But it was over as soon as it happened. I took a deep breath, struggling to put into words the feelings that were choking me.
"I'm waiting, Mace."
I open my eyes, and I can feel how watery they are. Still, I meet her gaze. "Of course, you didn't offend me, Viola."
She scoffs, resting against the wall beside me. It's an intimate level of closeness that I breathe in deeply. "Then what? You haven't spoken to me since we got here, and you stormed out. What else am I supposed to think?"
"You don't have to speculate. I'm happy to tell you, but I worry my words will upset you." I remember again the dinner we shared and the glib comment I made about not holding humans to the standards of fae after her poor table manners. I was embarrassed then and when she brought it up yesterday, but I am mortified now at the effect my words must have had.
I feel her knock her shoulder against my own, a quiet encouragement that fills me with enough bravery to force out my words. "I cannot believe you lived here, Viola. That anyone in the Lowlands lives like this while Ytopie is a beautiful, thriving city of excess." Her body stiffens next to me, but she doesn't speak. "I cannot begin to imagine what it was like to live here. I know your parents trained you a lot, but I didn't conceptualize that there was no chance for joy."
"Well, that's not fair to say," she interrupts. "I had plenty of moments of joy. I may not have had a closet of clothing or opulent meals, but my father would take me to the meadows just to pick the flowers. We'd lay there and read books, and he'd teach me how to make medicine with the plants we found."
"Don't you see? You were reading books that could help during the Race. Making medicine is training for the Race. It's producing a commodity for trade. It's… That's not a childhood, Viola. I stole your childhood from you." The words hadn't come to the surface of my mind before I spoke them, but as soon as I said them, the truth crippled me. I bury my face in my hands, unable to stave off a few guilty tears that run down my face. "I stole your childhood. My actions made it so your life goal was to live in Ytopie, and your parents only focused on that. They left you in the Race on your own because their minds were so warped by the directives I sent down. Not Stone, me. I never pushed back, not really. I resigned myself to the idea that he knew best. But it was me. And when you finally did the thing your entire life had been shaped around, winning the Race and making it to Ytopie, I threatened you with certain death or a life on the run where you'd be back to living like this or worse. No wonder you made the choice you did. I took advantage of your desperation."
Viola says nothing to assuage my iniquity. If I couldn't feel her presence next to me, I would think she'd have left me here to stew in my wrongdoings. "I couldn't even let you enjoy achieving your goal. My actions took that from you. And here we are, back where you started. I've ruined your life."
"I didn't think about it like that," she whispers, taking a step to the side and moving away from me, my heart clenching as she does. I pull my hands from my face and look at her, but she doesn't make eye contact. She's staring at her boots, caked with mud and a layer of loose dirt. "I mean, I knew you continued the Race. Obviously, I've known all along what you've done and are capable of. But I guess I didn't fully conceptualize that you weren't just following Stone's instructions but flourishing in them."
I flinch, her words cutting me deeply. "I tried to tell you," I mumble, knowing it's pointless to interject.
"I did feel backed into a corner in Ytopie." Her gaze brushes mine briefly, then falls back to her feet. "I mean, I made the decision I made knowing the risks and with the desire to protect my people, but the option wasn't the ritual or hiding. It was the ritual or death. I would' ve died fighting against it before I fled like a coward."
She slides down the wall and sits in the dirt, tapping her kneecaps. She's back to avoiding my gaze, and I ache to touch her, to reassure her. But I hold myself back because this isn't about me and my guilt.
It's about the harm I caused this incredible woman and how she thrived despite it.
"You did steal my childhood," she says with sudden clarity. "You and Stone. I didn't have the freedom to play with the other kids. My every spare minute was spent honing skills or training for the Race. Everything was a lesson. There was no affection from my mother, just training. I had Link, but you took him away from me." Her voice is softer than I've ever heard, as if all the fight she contained has been drained from her body. "You killed him, and you killed my parents." I flinch as I lower myself to the ground beside her.
"I did." There is no use arguing. My intent was one thing, but my impact was another, and I cannot hide from it. "I thought you forgave me for that?" I can't disguise the hope in my voice, the fervent wish that she can overlook all of my faults and see who I want to be.
She shrugs, moving her tapping fingers from her knees down her calves. "I do. Did. I don't know. Being back here, seeing where I lived, remembering all I've lost, all I went through because of that fucking Race brings up a lot of unpleasant feelings. "
I wait her out, giving her space to process her words. I long to close the distance between our bodies, to kiss and hold her and tell her it's going to be okay and we can work through those feelings. I don't because that would be for my well-being, not hers.
"I have so many bad memories, Mace. And I've just realized you're the face of all of them."