39. Chapter 39
Chapter 39
Viola
A fter a long discussion, we made the decision to postpone the visit with my estranged family. The addition of the new magic, plus the residual effects of my assault and the slag, left me in no mood to socialize. I was so drained that despite my desire to speak to Himureal again and get more answers, after cleaning my body off in a small stream, I immediately fell into a dreamless sleep.
Sunbeams crisscross my face and pull me from my sleep. I stretch from my uncomfortable place on the ground, but despite the unforgiving sleep surface, I feel the tension from my limbs mostly gone. I touch my nose for verification that the healing did happen last night and am relieved to feel the swelling has reduced and it feels relatively straight. I catch sight of my hands as I pull them from my face, and the shock of rot covering the fingers catches me off guard.
It's as if decay runs through my veins now, black-tipped fingers with lightning lines of the rot leading to my wrists. I wonder if, when we find the journal of his high priest, I'll find that Avidor had these same hands. With the Sunfire's symbol on my chest, it stands to reason that I am picking up some of their characteristics as I pick up their magic.
"Viola? What the fuck happened to your hair?" Tulip gasps from beside me.
I raise my eyebrow at her, "Two men who tried to assault me cut it off, so I removed the rest of it? Thanks for reminding me, damn."
"It's not that, Viola!" She exclaims. "Your hair is –"
"Back. And it's completely white." Mace's voice from behind me starts me, and I swing to look at him. As I do so, a curtain of thick white hair falls over my shoulder like a blanket of snow.
Like Himureal's hair.
I run my fingers through it, pulling strands out to examine it in my hands. It's incredibly soft, slightly cool to the touch, and reaches below my shoulder blades.
"It's a blanket of snow," Plume whispers. "Your hair appeared overnight like a blanket of snow."
"I thought the white was a fluke, I didn't expect it to grow back this way," I whisper, pulling the hair in front of my face like a curtain. "Why would this be happening now?"
Mace shrugs. "It must be what Morrow said, that the slag reduced your magic enough that when it came back, you imprinted with a trait of Himureal that was latent. I imagine it didn't happen at first because you were human."
I groan and stand up, searching for my boots to slip onto my feet. "This is bullshit! Everything about me is changing. I'm boiling with magic, my hands are like a corpse, I've got a growth in the shape of a sun on my chest, and now I have snow hair. What will happen when we find the Spring artifact? Will I just turn into a fucking flower?"
"Technically, a viola is a type of violet," Tulip says, biting her lip to hide a laugh.
"Wife, you're quite brave, angering the God of everything but Spring this morning," Morrow says through a yawn.
I throw my hands up in the air in frustration but it quickly seeps out of me with the memory of what Himureal told me about Avidor when we spoke last. The most temperate of the Gods.
I can feel that when I focus on the Autumn magic. Winter magic is a flurry of darkness and cruelty, brutal and beating within me. Summer is pure rage, heat, and fire that could explode at any moment. But Autumn, this new magic, feels like a gentle breeze that wraps me up in understanding and knowledge. It's a gentle caress within me.
Avidor was never the God to fear. None of them are, not when they're in balance. But this magic feels so natural to me, so cooling.
It's how I feel around Mace. Is this why Mace is so serene?
And Gods, I kissed him, and nothing happened. There was no magic going rogue, no random bolts of lightning in the air. His magic was calling to me, begging to be let in, as if it was always meant to be a part of me. And now that it is, the magic is finally at rest.
He may still be mad at me, but the way he kissed me told me there was still something there that could be salvaged .
I quickly braid the foreign hair and stand, brushing the dirt off my clothing. "I need some air. Mace, can you come with me?"
Mace startles at my words, like he's blown away that I'm initiating alone time with him. But still, he nods, silently rises, and follows me out of the cave.
The sun has barely begun to rise, but in the distance, I can see the bustle of the city. Soon someone will find the bodies of the two men who attacked me, and I will have to come clean of that to the city leadership. But for now, I lead Mace to a small copse of trees at the base of one of the outlying mountains of the range surrounding Colris. It is a surprisingly mild morning for late summer, and it would be easy to forget the weight of our responsibilities here.
"Do you want me to help you practice?" he asks by way of starting the conversation.
"I do, yes. But that's not why I asked you to come out here with me. I need to talk to you about a few things." My voice almost sounds foreign to my ears in its serenity. While I know the words are my own, it's like there is a clarity to them that couldn't have been there before.
"Taking on Autumn magic feels different than Winter or Summer," I begin. My chest aches at the secret I'm about to reveal to him, and while I have not lied to him, I have kept vital information from him, and I can no longer continue to do that. This feeling Avidor's magic has given me needs to be capitalized on before it fades, fades into the background of my overbearing personality. "I think I know why I feel so different. I have to start by saying, please let me explain everything before you explode on me, okay?"
He raises an eyebrow, and I want to reach out and smooth it, to touch his skin, but I refrain. "I have learned that I can create a shadow vision. I disappear into a world of shadows of my creation. The first time I did it, Himureal spoke to me." He inhales deeply and leans forward to interrupt, but I put my finger on his lips. The contact appears to shock him, and he blinks rapidly. "I know. I know what you're going to say. Despite that, I entered a shadow vision again. And then the next time, he appeared in my vision. He wanted to talk. He asked me to tell him about my childhood in exchange for teaching me more about my magic.
"How many times have you spoken to him?" he says gruffly, pushing my hand away.
"Three."
He pushes past me, hands moving in time with his words in anger. "Do you not understand how dangerous this is, Viola? He's manipulating you! He wants to earn your trust so you return to him. This is so irresponsible of you."
"It's not like that, Mace," I implore, reaching for his shoulder. "I have no one to talk to about my magic. He cannot even touch me in the shadow vision. He's not tried to convince me to join him, and he's taught me some things I never would have known otherwise."
"I don't want you doing it again," he says in a low, commanding voice.
I want to submit to him.
It would be easier, and he'd be happier.
But that is not me.
I tap my newly black fingers down one of my arms. "I will not promise that. My shadow vision is a place for me to be alone. It's a part of me."
He grabs my wrist. "Then you must promise me to tell me when he speaks to you. Come out of the vision, find me, and tell me everything."
"I will, Mace. I will tell you." It doesn't taste like a lie on my tongue, but a part of my brain is protesting the words.
Rubbing my hands down my face, I sigh deeply before continuing. "I bring this up because he told me things about Avidor the last time." That shuts Mace up, and he leans against a tree with his arms crossed, silently encouraging me to go on. "Himureal was deemed the reaper, and Solarius was called the warrior. Amaryn was the nurturer, and Avidor was the temperate." The magic in me sings and buzzes down my arms. "Himureal could see facts and intentions in blood, of course, and was brought in to exact justice. But Avidor was the one who would preside over disputes and would attempt to de-escalate before Himureal was required. He was considered the most agreeable of all the Gods."
"So he was the safe God? The hard to anger God, willing to hear someone out?"
"That's what I'm thinking. Regardless, this magic thrumming within me is allowing me to push through some of the cruel aggression I've been feeling. I know Pran was tough on you, Mace." I tug the tail of my braid a few times, my mind spinning with images of my wrongdoings. Not the big things, like the murders and the stealing, because despite everything, I cannot bring myself to feel bad about those things. But the times I lied to Max are front and center. The look on her face when she believed me so fully that I regretted killing Amio is burning behind my eyes.
I still don't regret it.
"It was tough, Viola. Seeing you like that wasn't something I enjoyed." He pulls a hand down his face. "Are you saying you regret what happened with Ryler and the guys last night?" he asks quietly.
"Them? Oh, Gods no. Ryler was left alive, which was a mercy considering he was holding back something that could help save the world. Those two last night were monsters, and they deserved what they got."
He huffs out a sarcastic laugh. "But we're also monsters, Viola."
I shrug and close some of the distance between us. "I never said I wasn't. God, monster, what's the difference?" I touch the side of his face gently with just one of my rot-riddled fingers. "This Autumn magic doesn't change who I am as a person just because he was a very calm God. It is giving me a new clarity and the ability to push past the wild magic of Winter that I didn't have prior, though. "
Clarity about myself and the things I have needed to do.
Clarity about my parents and how I didn't deserve what they did to me.
Clarity about Mace and the things I have to tell him if something is ever going to grow between us.
The sun highlights some of the richer tones in his dark hair, shimmering streaks of a deep brown. Looking at Mace makes my magic vibrate beneath my skin, I reach up to the tree that he leans against, doing my best to imagine the leaves crumbling and rotting on the ground. Several fall around us in various stages of decay.
"Well, that was fast," he says proudly. "Though, honestly, I could do without the dead hands." His words come with a bite of humor.
"Me too. Who knew becoming a God would make me so ugly?" My chuckle dies quickly in my throat. "I'm so sorry for all those things I said to you in Pran, Mace. It was unfair of me to throw the Race in your face yet again." The familiar pattern of my fingertips on my thighs centers me as I await his response to my apology.
His hand touches my cheek, pushing a few strands of hair that escaped from the braid behind my ear. "You're right. It was unfair. And I am still so angry about it. But that is something that is always going to be between us, and we both have to decide if we can handle that. There will never be any changing it, so we have to decide if we can push past it."
I want to lean into his hand so badly. I want to throw my arms around his neck, kiss him, and finally have no one know it's happening. I want to shout that we've already pushed past it and that it never needs to come up again.
But I can't.
Because we will never fully be over this. It will always be there, a part of us, an unwelcome third party in our relationship.
He leans towards me, head tilted as if he means to kiss me, and I stop him with a hand to his chest. "I have been keeping something else from you."
He freezes in position. "What's that, my numen?" Despite his special name being used for me, I can't decipher his tone. It's not angry, but it's not warm either.
"Do you remember in the garrison where Himureal had me taste Stone's blood?" I watch as his body goes rigid at the mention of his old mentor. I push through, not wanting to lose my nerve. "I saw something that I should've told you about immediately. But I didn't know how, and I didn't know what good it would do."
"That's not your choice to make," Mace whispers, fists tightening. He's moved a step away from me, and I immediately miss the heat of his closeness.
"I know that now." I suck in a deep breath to steel myself for the words to come. "Mace, I saw what happened to your parents."
"How? Doesn't reading blood show memories…" His voice trails off, and he looks at me with wide, watery eyes. "Stone was there? And you kept that from me?"
I reach for his hand, he takes it, and I lower us both to the grass. Closing both of his hands in mine and resting them on my knees, I nod. "Stone was there. Stone… Stone killed them, Mace."
Just as swiftly as we sat, he's on his feet, backing away from me, his back hitting the tree where he slumps towards the ground. I move to join him, and he holds his hand out, freezing me in place. "Don't come here, Viola. You kept this from me. How could you?" His words hurt, but they're not unwarranted, so I remain where I am, eyes fixed on him. After several deep breaths, he addresses me again. "What happened?"
"I didn't see everything," I begin, dropping back to the ground and digging my nails into the dirt below me. The coolness of it, combined with the earthy smell, centers me. "But from what I can gather, your father was collecting evidence, putting things together, to expose the Race as a farce."
"Like Zeph." He fists his hair as he gazes down at the ground beneath him. "I was perpetuating the thing my father was trying to abolish," he whispers. "Zeph was continuing his legacy and I was making it worse year over year. And for what? What did it get us?" I open my mouth to speak, but he barrels over my words. "It got us a God who wants to take over everything and another who wants nothing to do with it." He slides down the tree, head tilted back. "I'm a disgrace to his legacy, Viola."
"You couldn't have known, Mace," I say in a whisper.
"Why did he kill my mom?"
With a glance at the sky, I take a deep breath before continuing. " Killing your mom was Stone ensuring he could influence you. From what I saw, she didn't know about any of it. He struck them both down with lightning when they were walking back from the arena. They never saw it coming."
A sob escapes his throat, and he buries his face in his hands. I recognize the fresh grief, despite accepting the deaths of his parents years ago. It's different to have the manner of death changed after you've finally healed. An old wound being ripped open with no regard for the way you patched it up.
It's a pain I have grown acquainted with recently, and though I did not kill his parents, I feel guilt for putting him in this moment of grief.
"You should have told me, Viola," he says thickly. "This was not your secret to keep. I deserved to know."
"I should have. But my grief over Link and my parents was so fresh, and I didn't want to hurt you the way I was hurting. But it wasn't my decision to make, I see that now." I move closer to him, aching to be in touching distance.
"Now? You see it now? Now that you get some magic in you that gives you a modicum of empathy?"
I flinch back from his angry words, but the truth of them stings. I do feel a level of empathy I haven't before, and that must be attributed to whatever traits I have absorbed from Avidor. But I think that it was always there, just buried underneath self-preservation and survival instincts. But to hear my shortcomings thrown in my face cuts me, and I struggle to stay calm.
"I deserve that anger, Mace. I should have told you, and that is on me. But I am not the enemy here. I am not the one who killed your parents."
"And I didn't kill yours! Yet despite that, I continue to receive the brunt of your anger about it."
"That's entirely different, and you know it, Mace!" I shout, losing the battle with calm as the anger surges within me. I move to challenge Mace, to crowd his space, but at the last moment, I shake my head and stand, turning away from him. "You were complicit, Mace."
It's an ache in my chest to see him hurt like this. He's a man who I care about in the only way I can. I think I could love him, whatever love looks like for me now, one day. He's kind and understanding. He sees the best in me in a way no one else ever has. He's never made me feel like a tool, even though that was my intended purpose when I met him.
These feelings are foreign to me, long buried under a hardened layer of despair. But when I look at him, I feel the cracks in the earth, the threat of something real about to blossom that scares the fuck out of me.
But maybe it could be worth it.
I need to tell him this. I can't let this fight spiral and devolve the way it always does.
I need to let him know that I am flawed and broken, but I am willing to try for him.
I am willing to work through the hurt I feel.
I'm ready to have that conversation about our feelings that I have been avoiding and that he has been begging me to have.
I'm ready to tell him all of this, to lay myself bare in front of him and cut my veins open to let him see all the ugly pieces of me that will forever pour out.
I'm ready to tell him this.
But I don't get the chance.
"We're never going to work out, are we, Viola?" He looks up at me, eyes bloodshot with grief, and shakes his head sadly before speaking. "It's pointless. We keep coming back to this, time and time again. There is too much pain and resentment here. We've got to end whatever this is."