Chapter 16 #3
He studies me, his stone face hardened as his voice somehow remains soft, despite the chill of it.
“Do you know what the first lie of this world was? I will give you a hint: it was not that bloodlines are sacred. Or that kingdoms bring peace. Or that heroes are born from light. No. The first lie was justice.” His amber eyes do not waver, boring into me with the intensity of a lightning strike.
“They taught us to believe in it the way children believe the stars are gods. But justice is not divine, Lyra; it is inherited. Handed down from generation to generation like bloodstained heirlooms. Chiseled into law by the last man standing.” He takes a step toward me, his low voice sharp as a blade’s edge.
I swallow against the lump forming in my throat, an unsettling chill crawling up my spine while unease pools in my stomach. I don’t disagree with him, and that in itself is terrifying, yet…
I faced the consequences of those truths for nearly the entirety of my life.
“You know how we reset the cycle of justice? By wiping it clean, exterminating those who have been preposterously given their justice through inheritance—through blood that bleeds the same color yet is deemed more pure than another’s.
” He threads his fingers into his hair, pushing it away from his pinched face, dropping his eyes.
“The stain of what I intend to do will be so great, it will live on in the souls of men, and the future generations will be forced to forever remember the moment humanity finally looked at its reflection and wretched. Finally stood in front of a mirror and asked themselves, what have we become?” His gaze finds mine, and despite the shaking in my knees, I can’t look away from him.
Can’t focus on anything else but his words.
“You think my objective is revenge or simply out of hatred, when, in fact, quite the opposite is true. War is not the cost of what I intend to do; war is the cost of forgetting. So I will make sure they never forget again.”
The silence stretches between us like weighted lead, and Casimir turns away from me, keeping his clasped hands behind his back as his shoulders hunch slightly forward.
Despite everything, my brain still can’t help but notice how odd it is to see him slip into his normal, weary demeanor while looking so casual—so different from his normal crisp tunic and breeches and drawn-back hair.
It’s like I’m seeing the exterior version Casimir was before circumstances shaped him into the interior version I’m dealing with now—the two seeming at war quietly with the other.
“Once I’ve accomplished these tasks,” he continues, his fatigued tone officially returned and hollowed.
“The world will need a new leader. One who understands both sides of the coin and will rule with a level gaze. One who understands that what its predecessor saw as weakness is no such thing, just as what was seen as strength never was.” He pauses.
“I’d like for that person to be the heir to my magic.
” Another pause. “I’d like for that ruler to be you, Lyra. ”
My brows slam together, and I shake my head, backing away from him. “What? No. I…. I have no desire to rule. I have no desire for power; there is no freedom in power.”
“Powerful men would say otherwise.”
“Powerful men are fools who are blind to their own ambitions,” I spit.
He takes his time before speaking again.
“Which is why you are perfect to lead this new age. You will not condemn my people but instead give them an opportunity at the life that was robbed from them. You will not pass judgment on blood but on action. The hungry will starve from their actions and not from their birth.” He squares his shoulders to me, his gaze meeting mine with an intensity that nearly steals the breath from my chest. “You are perfect, Lyra. It is why I have brought you here—to prepare you for your role in my plans.”
“I am nobody’s puppet to cast in their plays,” I bite out.
“Besides, despite whether or not you are inherently correct, you speak of uprooting an entire civilization and committing mass genocide against the noble class. I will not just stand pretty by your side and watch those atrocities play out. Not all nobles are bad and deserve to die.”
“I agree with you,” he answers gently. “But it is the only way to forge a new dawn. Even leaving one could topple the delicate new order we are trying to create; could result in an uprising or a person grasping at power, using their ‘legitimacy’ as a claim to it.”
“We?” I balk, incredulous laughter spilling from my lips.
“Do not lump me in with your plans. Just because I’ve gained a better understanding of you and your motivations these past few days doesn’t mean I’m suddenly with you.
” I pace, my anger seeming to have a delayed reaction but finally spilling over, molten and sharp.
“You want to destroy magic. You want to indiscriminately murder every noble, highborn, and king inside the Three Kingdoms. Oh right,” I scoff.
“And you want to kill a god. A fucking god. Then you want to sit me, your ‘heir’, on some bloodied throne while you lie cold in a grave somewhere, not dealing for one second with the ramifications of your actions. Well you know what? Fuck. You.”
He watches me, remaining silent, seeming to allow me space to process my thoughts.
It makes me at once angrier while also forcing me to grasp at fleeting words.
“Why do you want to kill a god anyway? And which god? Better yet, how?” The incredulous disbelief, the boiling anger—it all clings to me like a second skin, making my vision blur and the magic heat my veins.
“Nevermind. Don’t answer that. I’ve had enough answers for one day. ”
I don’t voice my following thought: that my reeling mind doesn’t feel like it has the capacity to handle anymore.
I know I have been pushing for answers—I know I have been the one who has insisted on being told everything, but…
I could have never imagined the information would be as heavy as what I’ve just learned.
Not to mention, when I wanted answers, I was thinking more like:
Where am I?: Oh, you are being hidden in some remote jungle located just off of Glass Water Bay, coordinates blah, blah, blah.
Why did you take me?: Easy, because I want your help in ruling this remote jungle.
Will you please let me go?: You know what? Sure, Lyra.
Alright, I concede it was definitely wishful thinking on my part, but… just even a fraction of gods-damn simplicity would have been nice. Not this complicated mess of morals and ethics which now sit heavy in both my head and my heart.
Casimir reaches a hand out, seeming to sense my inner turmoil. I jerk back as if on reflex. The corner of his lip pulls into a frown before he resets, again rolling his shoulders back and reclasping his hands. “I think you are right—this has certainly been enough for one day. I’ll walk you down.”
“No,” I say, waving a hand at him. “I’ll…” I pause, sighing heavily. “I’ll see myself back to my chambers.”
The dip of his chin is his only reply.
I feel him watching me as I turn around and make for the staircase that is most definitely going to cause my calves to scream at me in the morning.
Right before I descend the first step, however, I turn back and glance at him, finally caving into asking the gnawing question that has been burrowing in the front of my mind ever since it floated through it.
“The prophecy says I was born from the ashes of what the raven desired most yet never found.” My heart skips like a rock over a glassy river.
“What is it you wanted most but were never able to have?” I don’t say my echoing question aloud to him, not wanting him to glimpse any of the emotion resting within its syllables.
What ashes was I born from?
He observes me for a long, silent moment. Until he again glances up at the sky, as if searching for something—someone, even. He releases a quiet breath, the sound filled with so many untold stories. “A great love.”