Chapter 31 Go Down With Me
Go Down With Me
Lucian
T
he Soul Ruby is tucked in my sheath as I walk to Cynthia’s office. Hogan, the Psychology teacher, waits by the door when I arrive. Like every other time I’ve been here recently, Cynthia is gone.
I pause, glancing at him.
“Your Majesty.” His bow is short and shallow.
“Where is Cynthia?” I ask.
“My question as well.”
“There was a—”
“Catastrophe,” he fills in for me. “Yes, I’m aware.”
I straighten, gesturing into Cynthia’s office. “Shall we?”
Hogan takes a deep breath, steps in front of me, and drops into Cynthia’s chair behind the desk. He runs a hand over his jaw, scruffier than usual.
“I can alert my parents,” I say, breaking the silence. It’s the last thing I want to do, but it might be necessary. “For now, we have other priorities. There could be students beneath the rubble.”
I already know there’s one.
“I’ll request Queen Melody send a shipment of Nepenthes.” Hogan rubs his temples and leans forward. “I must know, what caused the tremor?”
It’s exactly what I’m wondering.
“Perhaps it’s something to do with the uprisings?” I say. “An attack?”
Hogan shifts in his seat, clutching the arms as his face blanches. “Those are nothing more than rumors.”
I nearly smile. It’s exactly as his sovereigns instructed him to say, I’m sure. “You don’t need to lie to me.”
He clears his throat. “Then you should know they’re not capable of managing an attack of this caliber.”
“Half of our dorms fell,” I say. “That’s hardly a fraction of the academy. The damage is contained.”
“It’s a marble building that’s stood for a thousand years,” he says sharply. “No rebellion could do this without inside help.”
“Do you have suspects?” I ask.
He glances me up and down. “A few.”
The implication is clear. I renounced the throne to his world. He must think I have a vendetta against Folkara—where the rebellions began, Calista said.
“Choose your words carefully,” I mutter, “professor.”
Hogan nods, looking at the desk. His voice is stiff, but he manages to say, “I apologize.”
“As you should.” I rise, cuffing the sleeves of my academy uniform—still covered in dust from the collapse. “Send word when the Nepenthes arrive.”
?
I’m not sure if Wendy is dead, for how does something dead die? I have no answer. Yet, there’s no plausible way someone could survive the thousands of pounds of marble beneath my feet.
The Nepenthes and I move the rubble. I expect one of them to tell me, “No, Prince Lucian, we have it handled.” None of them give me so much as a glance.
None of them know who I am. For a moment, it irks me, yet as I continue to pick up marble, searching for Wendy, I feel a great sense of relief in knowing that, for now, I am no one.
I spot another flash of skin beneath the marble. It isn’t the first, yet each time I feel a surge of hope. As I push away the rubble, I quickly see it isn’t Wendy.
“Another!” I call.
A few Nepenthes walk over, helping me drag the corpse out.
We’ve found a few bodies so far—all women, as it’s the girls’ wing that collapsed.
However, this one isn’t like the rest. The stench burns my eyes, as if they’ve been dead for a long time.
It’s heavier than the others as we tug the body free, and male.
His skin holds a pallor, and his lips are gray.
The Nepenthes cough, waving a hand over their noses and muttering about the academy.
Then they throw the decomposing corpse onto the pile.
I continue my search for Wendy. For every twenty bodies we find, at least half have gray lips.
Not all of them smell. Some smell worse than the first. Someone has been hiding their skeletons in the closets of the girls’ wing.
After hours of death, it’s a breath of fresh air when I find a hand piercing through the rock. The fingers stretch, searching for something to grasp.
“Another one!” I shout. “Alive!”
The Nepenthes rush to my side, their movements frantic as we work together to clear the debris from the trapped figure.
Piece by piece, we uncover them. Wendy—alive, whatever that means for her—is coated in a thick layer of dust, appearing more statue than person.
She trembles, clinging to me, clutching my shirt as if it’s the cane keeping her standing.
“You’re all right.” I hold her close, unable to imagine what she’s endured. We make it to the world beyond the rubble, and I say, “You’re free.”
“I…” Her breath shakes and her jaw chatters.
We lower to the grass together, dust still floating in the air—though not nearly as much.
Streaks of tears wash lines in her cheeks.
Wendy flexes her hand over and over, her fingers curling and straightening in a steady rhythm. “I’m unnatural,” she finally whispers.
“You’re alive,” I say.
“No.” She shakes her head. “I’m not.”
As she meets my gaze, the green in her eyes is gone. Like the gray threading her hair, her irises have drained of color, closer now to Azaire’s than any Eunoia’s.
Wendy goes on, flexing her hand. “Not a single bone is broken.”
Her eyes fix on her dust-coated fingers, and fear—or doubt—trickles into my heart.
“How do you feel about doing the same to Azaire?” I ask.
Wendy sniffles. “Terrible.” She wipes her nose, and I can’t tell if she’s clearing away the dust or smearing on more. “If I can’t die, then I’m condemning him, too.”
I glance down, unsure what to say, as Wendy continues, “But… after I lost my magic, all I could feel was myself. My pain and grief. Azaire—”
Suddenly, she falls forward, holding a hand over her mouth as she hiccups. I rub her back, and a few moments later, she retches. My thoughts spin elsewhere. Surely there’s a way to kill Wendy. We won’t be damning Azaire. Everything can die, even the dead. Zola demands her balance.
What could kill the dead if none of Wendy’s bones are broken? An ancient marble building collapsed on top of her, and she’s fine. That’s no small feat.
Wendy groans, pushing herself upright. I reach for the red dagger.
I should have suspected something from the beginning.
Each time it’s in my hand, I feel more powerful.
It calls to me, goading me into strength.
If Icarthus was right—if he used the Soul Ruby on me as a child—this is it.
Though I’m unsure what power he wants me to possess.
Palming the dagger, I twist it slowly in my hand. “I found the Soul Ruby.”
Wendy’s eyes widen, alight with awe, matching the tremble of wonder in my tone. That look tells me she’ll bring back Azaire. She’ll do anything for him, like I would.
All my doubt eases. We are in this together. She is, perhaps, the only person in this universe I see eye to eye with.
“We can do it,” I whisper. “We can bring him back.”
?
It’s the following evening when Desdemona leans against my door frame, tapping the wood with her nails. I glance up quickly.
“Hey,” she says, taking a slow step into my room.
I sit up, rising to my feet. “Hey.”
She drums her fingers against her thigh. “Um… did you figure out a way for me to hold it?”
I stare at her. Looking away would feel wrong. I have to be careful with my words. “Hold what?” I ask.
“The dagger.” Desdemona steps closer, a small smile on her lips as she whispers, “The Ruby.”
“I have an array of daggers,” I say with a shrug. “No rubies.”
“Aibek—” She cuts herself off, taking a deep breath. “Don’t lie to me right now.”
“I don’t know—”
“The ruby,” Desdemona says again, voice rising. “You were supposed to cover it. Or something.”
“I don’t have—”
Desdemona tilts her chin back, and a slow ache presses through my chest, my heart beating against bone.
I gasp, clutching my shirt tight, as Desdemona strides past me.
She opens my drawers, rifling through my belongings.
She won’t find the Soul Ruby here; I’ve already given it to Wendy for safekeeping.
I try to step forward, perhaps to talk her down, though I fall to my knees.
The pain spreads faster, coursing through my veins like lava in cracked asphalt. Sweat beads at my temples. Ripping open my skin and tearing my heart out would hurt less than this. I writhe against the floor, clutching my shirt.
“Des—”
I’m unable to finish.
She tears through every drawer, and I look away, collapsing onto my back. I rip my shirt in half, just above my heart, seeking some kind of alleviation. It offers none. My hands rise to my throat next, as if I can tear it open and bring breath to my lungs.
Darkness spreads through my vision.
At last, Desdemona walks to me. She drops beside me, but her magic doesn’t relent. I can do nothing as her hands reach into my pocket and rise beneath my shirt, touching every inch of me, yet she is still left unsatisfied.
Desdemona steps over me, her face above mine. Even now, even here, all I see is her beauty—a god of war above me, and I’m reaping her reward.
For a moment, all is still. There isn’t a secret, revenge, or hatred between us. She’s looking into my eyes, and I’m looking into hers. We’re moments away from one another, and if we wanted to, we could meet each other here. We could see each other. Everything between us could be fixed.
“I know you need it,” she says. “But I need it, too. We can both use it.”
I shake my head. It’s unlikely I’d be able to speak if I tried. One thing remains true—I will never trust the Soul Ruby in the hands of an Arcane, no matter who the Arcane is. Perhaps that’s why nothing will ever be fixed between us.
Suddenly, my heart eases. The lava veins of pain simmer, no longer boiling.
“Shit,” Desdemona mutters, leaning away. I hear her pacing, running a hand through her hair.
When I’m able, I sit up.
She turns to me, furiously running her hand through her hair. “You really don’t remember?”
“I don’t—”
“Again? We have to do this again?”
“I don’t imagine the silvers were as important as a Soul Stone—”
“Obviously not, Aibek,” she spits.
“There’s something I don’t understand,” I whisper. “Why do you want the Soul Ruby?”
Desdemona shakes her head. “It isn’t important.”
I didn’t expect to get the truth out of her. I still don’t. Yet I say, “It’s important to me.”
She laughs softly. “Yeah,” she sighs. “That night…” She looks away, then suddenly her words come slowly, stilted. “You told me you wanted to remember me.”
I nod, swallowing hard.
It’s a night I think of often, how it felt to hold her close, to rake my fingers through her hair, unbidden by anything. There were no restrictions between us, no duty or forced hatred. It was simply me and a girl—this girl, who nearly killed me for a Soul Stone.
“Do you still?” she whispers.
I open my mouth, choking on my words. Yes, I should say. Yet it seems far too forthcoming. I have the Soul Ruby and am bound to betray her. Honesty now seems unusually cruel.
When I don’t answer, she asks, voice growing harsh again, “Why did you ask me to stay?”
“I was… delirious,” I say, straightening my spine.
“No.” Desdemona steps back. “That’s not enough of an answer. I don’t ask people I hate to stay in my bed just because I bled a little.”
With a shrug, I say, “I bled more than a little—”
“Aibek,” she warns. “Why?”
I shake my head and look away. “You know why.”
Desdemona’s voice cracks. “I don’t.”
“I told you that night—”
“But you were delirious that night. I can’t believe anything you said.”
I drag a hand down my face. I can’t do this—not yet. I can’t tell her how I feel, the truth of it all.
Yet I see no other option.
“I wasn’t being truthful,” I whisper.
“Then be truthful.”
Desdemona’s eyes are on me, her mouth slightly open, eyebrows furrowed. She’s waiting for me to answer. I’m not sure I know how. How do I tell the woman I can’t remember that she is haunting me—our past is haunting me—when she holds that past?
“I see you,” I whisper, voice shaking, “all the time, flashing in my mind. It’s never your face. It’s never your voice. Yet it’s you, unequivocally.”
Desdemona looks away, gulping.
“The first thing you did when you saw me again was kill me,” she says, her voice low.
“I know…”
“No, Aibek, you don’t know. Because I was racing through that hall to get to you.
” A tear falls down her cheek as she glances at the ceiling.
It breaks my heart to hear the truth. Everything I see but cannot grasp, she knows, and that is what she saw when she first looked at me again.
Then I didn’t just kill her—I told her I was glad to do it.
It’s no wonder she’s been distant. I’m not sure I can ever expect anything different between us.
Desdemona continues, “With everything we…” but she isn’t able to finish the sentence. She shakes her head. “I thought maybe you would have remembered.”
“I want to.” I step closer, picking up her hand. She doesn’t react—doesn’t push me away, doesn’t look in my direction. “More than anything.”
I need her to look at me.
“But it’s not enough to want something, is it?” She glances over her shoulder, her face twisted in a scowl. It’s the angriest I’ve ever seen anyone cry.
It will be in my mind forever. If this is the last I see of her—the last moment I can express my feelings—I wouldn’t blame her. I needed her to look at me, and she did.
“Please,” I whisper.
“Don’t,” she says. “Don’t beg.” Then she pulls her hand out of mine, turning toward the door.
“I can’t imagine begging for anyone else.” I drop to my knees, arms dangling helplessly at my sides, longing to reach out for her.
Desdemona doesn’t look back before she exits.