22. Chapter 22
Chapter 22
Viola
T hat one word wakes my body up like a plunge in the ocean. After hours of not feeling anything, it's like my body has decided to make up for the missed sensations all at once, every nerve ending alight with agony and emotion. Only seconds pass before I am on my feet and moving without conscious thought.
"Go, get her water," I urge Mace. He stands and nods, grabs my empty glass, and darts up the stairs to find the barrel that stores the fresh water. I push into the triangle room, where I find Tulip lying prone on the bed.
Her clothing has been cut off, so she's left in only her underwear and chest wrap. Her hair is matted with blood, and there is a bright pink striping of fresh scars all over her body at random intervals. I sit beside her on the bed and stroke my hand across her hair.
"The tentacles… had … spikes…" she grunts out.
"Shh, don't talk, Tulip." She nods weakly, and I continue to rub her hair from her forehead. Her skin is so clammy, so deathly pale. She looks up at me with sad blue eyes that threaten to break my heart. I clear my throat, pushing down the emotion that has lived under the surface since the moment the battle ended.
"You know, Tulip, when I said my family tends to all die, I didn't mean you should give it a go."
She tries to suppress a laugh, but it turns into a groan. "Lola, don't… make me… laugh. Everything… hurts."
The door opens and knocks against the wall, attracting both of our attention. Morrow stands there with a glass of water in his hand, eyes puffy from lack of sleep. "If you wanted a divorce, you could've just told me," he rumbles, stepping into the room. At that moment it hits me, the similarities between Morrow and I. I wonder if Tulip sees it. I watch as she looks at him the best she can without moving, an unrecognizable emotion flickering across her face. He kneels beside the bed and holds the glass of water to her lips, tilting it slightly so she gets small amounts at a time.
The intimacy of the action almost knocks me back. I thought Morrow's words were bravado, but what started as a joke may actually be morphing into something real.
At least for one of them.
"Can't … divorce … a fake … marriage," she forces out. Her voice is weak and shaky, and I wonder if she should even be using it, but I would never tell her that.
Morrow takes that comment in stride, lightly brushing hair from her forehead. "Keep telling yourself it's fake, maybe one day you'll believe it." I punch his thick shoulder, and he laughs loudly. Though the volume makes Tulip wince, I can see the interaction makes her happy .
The clearing of a throat alerts us to Mace's presence, his tall body folded into the doorway. "Glad to see you again, Tulip."
She grimaces from the strain to turn her head to see him. "Likewise, Mace." Though their relationship has remained cordial, they have never spent much time together, and I am sure it's because Tulip can't get over blaming him for the Race. Not that I begrudge that of her. I'm still struggling with it, and I know him intimately. But how he stuck by my side and didn't force me to talk or move around during the limbo while we waited for Tulip to wake tells me all I need to know about his true character.
I give him a small, appreciative smile. The one he returns is shy, despite the confidence in which he holds his body. "Plume would like to come see you if that's okay," he says quietly, purposefully keeping his voice down for the sake of Tulip's headache. She nods and tries to force herself supine.
I push my hand between her shoulder blades. "No, do not move until Plume checks you out and says it's okay." There isn't much fight in Tulip, so she sinks deeper into the mattress. I notice both Mace and Morrow have their eyes solely focused on her face, and I appreciate the illusion of modesty they are giving her, but it does not seem like it bothers her much. She's just glad to be alive.
Me too.
A slightly less seasick-looking Plume comes into the room and shoos Morrow away from Tulip's face. "Hey there, Tulip. You gave us all quite the scare." Tulip forces a wide grin, her dry lips cracking with the effort.
"Then… my job here… is done."
I groan at her joke, my eyes drifting up to the ceiling. I finally give myself the chance to examine the space around me. The room is almost identical to the circle room, but it has a large bed with a bunk on top of it instead of just the large bed. Based on the clothing strewed over the top bunk, Morrow has been sleeping there, and the women sharing the lower bed. Morrow has been continuously keeping the sconces lit with flames, casting an orange flickering glow over the room.
Plume is running her fingers through Tulip's hair, checking for injuries on her scalp. "The fall cracked your skull, Tulip."
I cannot help the yelp that leaves my mouth. Even seeing now that Tulip is fine, the realization of just how close to death she was pulls my heart into my throat.
I was unsure if I could ever feel anything like this after Max died. But when Tulip was hurt, my fear for her mixed with all the grief I have shoved deep since the Race started to bubble up. I sat in the hallway, my mind flashing with images of Tulip crumpled on the deck, Max sprawled on the ground below the mountain, Link bleeding out into the ritual bowl, and my parents lying on the ground with their throats slit. I don't know if that's how Link and my parents died, but my brain didn't seem to care about that small detail. All of it compounded and left me shattered and ruined on the floor at Mace's feet.
After Plume completes her assessment, she sits back on her heels. "Tulip is going to be okay. Her body is recovering from the damage still, as well as the amount of magic I had to push into her. This was extensive, even for a fae, and a human is not used to processing that much magic. She needs a lot of rest." She stands and brushes her hands off on her moss green pants.
I nod and move to sit beside Tulip on the bed. "Okay, I'll stay with her."
Tulip groans, a hand weakly shoving me. "No, no, you won't. Go eat. You look like…. you're on death's door. I don't need…. a babysitter."
A lump forms in my throat, and I shake my head. "I can't… I can't leave you, Tulip. I almost lost you."
Tulip forces her body to roll over, and I use my hands to guide her to her back. "But you didn't. You heard Plume. I'm going to be…. okay, I just need rest. Do you think I am going…. to be able to rest if you're sitting there…. glaring over me? You're not exactly a… relaxing presence." The longer she's awake, the stronger her voice is coming, that time only wavering on a few words. Her face is the only thing that betrays she was joking, and I stand, peering down at her.
"Not all of us can be made of sunshine, Tulip."
"Some of us are made… of shadows," she sighs, closing her eyes. I reach down and pat her hand, satisfied that the Tulip I know is still in that broken body.
"Fine, I'll leave. But if you think for one second I won't be back down here the minute I eat, then you don't know me at all," I bite out stubbornly.
"Wouldn't have it any other way, Lola."
The ship's cook was able to get Mace and me bowls of oatmeal with some dried fruits cut up on top, and I was grateful for the bland meal. I'm not sure my stomach could have handled anything else. At this point, I am only eating to quiet the angry sounds that escape it every few minutes.
We sit across from each other in a comfortable silence, locking eyes every once in a while. "Do you want to talk about it?" he murmurs, tasting another spoonful of the thick oats.
I shake my head, schooling my voice to avoid a waver when I speak. "No, I'm okay. Thank you for caring for me, Mace. I know that was probably not easy for you."
His brow lowers in confusion. "I hated seeing you like that, of course, but you were hurting. I just wish I could have done more for you."
"There was nothing you could have done. You being there was more than I could've asked for." I take another bite of my oatmeal, and it sticks to my throat on the way down. He looks like he's about to speak again, to refute my assertion that just his presence was enough, but I cut him off. "But I do need to speak to Jaz. I can't let this continue without telling them everything."
"Are you sure? Now?" His face makes it clear he does not think this is a good idea. It may not be, but I need to do this before I lose my nerve.
Sighing, I put my spoon down, "Yeah, it has to be now. Jaz deserves to know."
As if summoned, loud boots stomp behind me. "What do I deserve to know, Viola?" Mace looks up and sees the captain behind me and stands, taking his bowl with him.
"Viola, unless you need me…"
I wave him away, knowing this is something I have to do on my own. Jaz settles into Mace's vacated seat, leaning forward on their elbows. "Out with it, Mistflow."
Pushing my bowl of oatmeal away, I run my fingers through my limp, greasy hair. When was the last time I washed it? "I have a lot to tell you. Do you want the story, or do you want to ask the questions I know you've been saving up?"
They suck on their teeth before answering. "The story, but I'm going to interrupt you with the questions, I'm sure."
Nodding, I lean forward and prop my elbows on the table, resting my chin in my hands. "That's what I figured. Then, I need to start at the very beginning. Before the Race, Max and I made a deal that we would finish the Race together, making it to Ytopie and living out our lives there."
Jaz winces at the mention of their friend's name, and I know it has been a hardship not to ask me what happened to her. Still, they don't interrupt me.
"Shortly after that, I broke into your house."
They push back from the table, startling me with the scratching of the bench's legs on the floor. "It was you?" Betrayal greets me when they finally make eye contact.
"I'm not proud of it, Jaz. And it wasn't personal."
"Feels pretty personal to me," they spit.
Remorse is hard for me, a foreign emotion that does not serve me well. I twist it into what I need it to be, to allow it to coat the words as they cross my tongue. "I was desperate to win that year. It was the tenth anniversary of my parents leaving me on the mountain."
"We all know about your baggage, Mistflow. That doesn't excuse it," they sneer at me.
I drop my head in that feigned regret, but the truth is I don't regret it. I'm not proud of it, but it was necessary, and it saved Max, Tulip, and me from the Wendigo. I push on. "I know it doesn't excuse it. Trust me when I say I went there only for the meat. But when I was in your home, I found something more. I found the Witch's Ladder."
"I know what you found. That's been in my family for generations. I want it back."
Sadly, I shake my head. "I can't give it back. That comes later in the story." They settle back in their chair, but the tick of their jaw lets me know that I've pissed them off.
I explain our journey through the Race, glossing over the encounter with Amio and lingering on the Wendigo. Jaz was unfamiliar with the vile beast but easily understood the threat.
"While fighting, I untied one of the feathers," I say.
"Nothing happened, right? I tried it one year, and it didn't work for me. My mother swears it's supposed to save us when we need it most."
I shake my head. "A lot happened. Shadows crawled in everywhere and helped us defeat the creature." They gawk at me, looking like they're going to interrupt me to ask a question. "I'll get there, promise. Shortly after that battle, Max started acting odd." Memories of the fights replay in my mind as I try to fall asleep every night, and it's painful to share them with Jaz, but I do it. The words Max flung at me on the mountain were a constant refrain, singing songs of my failures.
"You're broken, Vi."
Maybe she was right.
I clear my throat, shaking myself out of the memory. "After one fight, she set off to finish the Race on her own. She climbed the mountain and…" I choke on my own words. "And she fell to her death."
Jaz's face contorts with grief. I think they knew this was coming since Max wasn't traveling with me, but it's another thing to hear it described so plainly. "Her death was my fault, Jaz. I take full responsibility for it. When I pulled the feather, I … enhanced some magic within me that turned our promise into a curse. That's why her mood changed so much. When she broke the promise, the curse took her life."
They shake their head, biting the inside of their cheek to keep the tears that shimmer in their eyes from spilling. "I can't tell if that's worse or better than Max's death being a freak accident."
We sit in silence, staring at one another. Our shared history crosses between us with every breath we take. Max was the only thing that brought us together. Jaz and I never sought each other out independently. That doesn't mean they don't care for me. I 'm sure they do and that they consider me a friend. But Max was what tied us to one another. With her gone, we both know that there is no relationship between us.
With a sigh, I continue and explain the rest of the story. I share about finding the elevator, the push and pull between Zeph and Mace, the banishment of the Gods, and the journey to find out if I was the vessel. "I was showing a lot of magic after the Wendigo battle, and when I got to Ytopie, I pulled all the other feathers, experimenting with their spells. Eventually, I learned to control magic myself."
"But how? You're human."
"I guess not anymore." The acknowledgment of it tastes sour on my tongue. I don't want to be this savior, this God, that I seem to be thrust into being. I am a human from the Lowlands, and yet now I feel like so much more.
I want to bring the other Gods back, sure, but then I want to leave them to their business. But I know I am fooling myself if I think I can escape this without gaining a title I never imagined would be applied to me. Mace practically said as much. This is a responsibility I didn't ask for, but I must nurture all the same.
Taking a deep breath, I grit out the truth I wish so badly were false. With a shaking breath, I tell Jaz our theory about me absorbing a fragment of the Frostweaver's magic.
They rub the bridge of their nose between their eyes. "Wait a Godsdamned second, Viola. You're telling me you're a God?"
I groan at the designation. I still want to fight it tooth and nail, but every time someone says it, that ability seems to go farther and farther out of reach. "A partial God, maybe? We're not fully sure. But when we brought Himureal back, he called me his equal, his Shadowweaver."
Jaz seems to have no reaction to the fact that they have known me since childhood, and they just found out I may be a God. "Why are you here, on my boat, with an entourage of fae?"
"We didn't fool you, huh?" I chuckle.
They roll their eyes. "Of course you didn't. They're so pretty, so different."
"I said the same thing!" A soft chuckle escapes me before I inhale deeply to finish the story. "Himureal doesn't want to bring back the other Gods like we thought he would. He said all the world needs is him and me. That idea doesn't sit right with any of us. The world needs more magic than just Winter. When we told him that, he got very aggressive and started saying I belong to him." I snarl at the memory. "I don't like being claimed like that."
Jaz snorts and rubs their hand through their curly hair. "I know. Even Link knew better than to say that shit."
"He's dead, you know that, right?" My voice is smaller than intended.
"I figured as much. He never made it?"
Talking about Link with someone who knew him aches differently. The grief is still there but not as acute anymore. "There was thought he may have been the vessel. He didn't survive the ritual. But he made it."
Once again, Jaz is fighting back tears, grief long since interred bubbling up as they grab my hands. "He'd be proud of you, Vi."
"Doubtful. He told Mace I would slit his throat when I arrived. You've seen how that turned out."
"I can tell there is more to Mace Nightroot than meets the eye. I've seen the way he looks at you." I pull my hands away from Jaz and rub the back of my neck.
"Regardless, Mace still holds culpability in Link's death."
Jaz leans back in their chair, kicking those heavy boots they always stomp around in on the table. "Yep, and you hold culpability in Max's. Doesn't make you a bad person, doesn't mean you don't deserve happiness."
Hearing them blame me for Max's death doesn't hurt the way I thought it would. It's almost healing to finally have someone acknowledge that a part of it is on me. Everyone has tried and tried to convince me that it's not my fault, but the blame lies with me. Not just on my magic. If I had gone with her, if I hadn't stubbornly sought the elevator, Max would be alive with me today.
"I'm not looking for happiness. I'm looking to survive, to better all of Krillium. It's what Max would've done."
Sensing my hesitation to dive into my emotions, Jaz gets us back on track. "How do you plan to stop Himureal?"
"Well, a high priest colonized each of the cities at one point, so we're trying to find the other artifacts we need to bring the other Gods back and banish Himureal for good since he's proven he does not want to play nice."
"That's what Mace meant by you're the one who's going to save the Gods?"
Running my fingers through my hair, I wince. "Yeah, it is. And I wish he hadn't made that proclamation. But there is the possibility that I can summon the Gods back with my newfound powers and … take his place." I choke on the words.
Jaz rolls their lips inward, suppressing a smile. "Viola Mistflow, the Shadowweaver, God of Winter." A chuckle grows louder in their throat. "Who would have ever thought that a dirty, scrawny kid from Dalery would become a God? Your parents must be thrilled."
With a wince, I share the darkest part of the story – the unneeded deaths that were supposed to aid in the return of Himureal. We sit there in silence, Jaz tapping their fingers together as the information processes.
"It's not a great thing to hear," they whisper. Conflict flashes through their eyes, and I watch as Jaz pulls at their hair in contemplation. "Everyone has lost someone, as a winner or an expendable. As I'm sure you know, it has left a mark on all of us." Almost as if fighting against what they want to say, Jaz drops their face into their hands. "But I can see how it ended up that way. How the Patricians could justify it, and be okay with keeping us in the dark. Don't mean I like it, but I can understand that twisted logic."
That reaction shocks me. Jaz has always been pragmatic, but I didn't expect this. Maybe if some of their family had been winners, they would feel differently, but for now, I am grateful not to have to fight on this .
Emphatically, I agree with them. "I've tried to remove the gray and make this situation black and white, and it just refuses to fall on one side or the other. Especially since if Himureal wasn't a dick, things would have worked out perfectly, and the world would be in a much safer place. The Race would still be ending. That was the whole point of it, to find someone who could herald the return of the Gods."
"Well, the weakening of magic certainly explains the Charbydis, now, don't it?" Jaz stands, clapping me on my shoulder. "I'm glad you told me everything. Now I understand those two extra packs of meat you gave me. Consider your debt repaid because if I had been the one to take on that power, I don't think I would have handled it as gracefully as you have."
"I think you're the only person ever to call me graceful." A word like that is reserved for the beautiful and dainty women who glide and dance, not women like me who stomp around in clunky boots.
A deep laugh rolls up Jaz's chest. "Fair enough. And hey, Viola?"
I turn to look at them as they're walking out the door behind me, "Yeah?"
"Try not to stick us with another dick God. Don't be worse than what you replace."