Chapter 32 Moral Consequences
Moral Consequences
Desdemona
H
ogan addresses a group of girls, telling us about the destruction. The girls’ wing collapsed. I can’t stop wondering if it was something I did in the hallucination. But that’s ridiculous, isn’t it?
How could I take down a marble building? All I can do is start fires and play with blood.
It couldn’t have been me. But the timing, the way my stomach curls into itself when I think about it—
“We’ve rearranged the boys’ suites to accommodate you,” Hogan announces, his gaze steady on me.
There is nothing I could have done to bring down a building. I know that. I have to move on.
I scan the crowd, searching for the person who stole Lucian’s memories.
One girl picks at her nails—another twirls her hair. These are nervous habits, but there’s no telling if the person I’m looking for is nervous.
The girls in front of me whisper about the fundraiser next week, hardly fazed by the school collapsing.
“What are you wearing?” one asks.
“An emerald gown.” She touches her chest. “Pure stones along the bust.”
It’s another chance to wear fancy clothes and dance with people I’d rather not touch—and that takes precedence over the dead. For me, the Soul Ruby holds that spot. I’m gonna find that thing.
Hogan pairs me with Lilac and Fleur to find our suite, but when we meet, Fleur is missing.
Could she be one of the casualties?
Am I responsible for all the casualties?
“Hi,” Lilac whispers, voice timid.
I smile in response. It must be underwhelming.
“I can take us,” she says. “I know the way.”
Again, I smile and nod. I’m scared that if I open my mouth, a scream will come out. I should have taken that Soul Ruby the moment I knew what it was. No one would take my memory. I would kill them before they got the chance.
I walk beside Lilac toward our new suite. The three of us will be sharing a room. A few other girls will join our suite, and the boys have been moved to another one. There are two beds in the room. I decide I’ll take the floor.
“I see why my brother likes you.” The blue of Lilac’s eyes shines bright, lighting the room.
When her eyes return to normal, I ask, “Why?”
“There’s something about you,” she mutters. “I can’t place a finger on it. You’re certainly powerful.” Her eyes glow faintly again, as if she’s reading my power. Or feeling it. She could suck it out of me right now, like she did to Alec. But that wouldn’t kill me, I suppose.
I’d just be an unlimited power source.
“That’s what he said when we met,” I say under my breath.
Not that he remembers.
“He could feel your power?” A small smile pulls at her lips.
“I guess.”
Lilac nods, looking to the ceiling.
“Hey, Lilac?” She turns back. “Do you know which room Jermoine is in now that the suites have changed?”
I asked Lucian for the names of anyone who had access to his room. All he knows is that I’m trying to retrieve his memories—which I assume he’s okay with.
He doesn’t know I’m willing to do much, much worse than that.
“He’s back?” Lilac asks, and I nod. “I saw his last name on the sheet, suite 3A. I thought it was his brother.”
I offer a small smile. “Thanks.”
?
Before class, I search for Aralia. I’m not surprised to find her in the garden smoking. I sit beside her, and a thorn catches my hand. A small sting of blood blooms on my palm.
“The gardeners haven’t been coming,” she says, watching me wipe the blood away as she hands me the joint. “I kinda like it. The other kids come out less.”
I accept the joint, smoking before asking, “Why aren’t they coming?”
She smiles, eyes widening mockingly as she says, “Rebellion.”
“Really?” I ask, unsure if I’m comforted or scared. Rebellions end in war… but maybe war ends with a better world than we have now.
“I dunno.” Aralia rolls her eyes. “There’s always something.”
“Yeah.” I hand her the joint. Then I move on to what I came for. “Do you have any glamour? Mascara? Blush?”
I know she does. She’s probably wearing it right now.
“What for?” Aralia asks.
“The same reason you wear it.”
“Yeah, I have some,” she says, smoke pouring from her mouth. She stands and looks down at me. “Come on.”
?
Aralia’s new room is plain. The first thing I do is look at the windowsill, but the photos of her dad are gone.
“I lost most of my glamours when the wing collapsed.” She dumps the contents of a box on her bed—mostly random trinkets and some blush. I wonder if it’s all she has left. “Luckily, I made a few more.”
“Thanks.” I smile.
“Is it a boy?” she asks, handing me lipstick the same way she hands me a joint.
I walk to the mirror and dab it on. “You could say that.”
“Tell me everything.”
I take a breath. There’s nothing to tell. “Well clearly he’s a Folk.”
But she doesn’t know she used to give me glamour to look more Folk-like. It must not make sense to her.
“You look amazing.” Aralia hands me a blush, just like she has so many times before. It instantly makes my jaw appear subtler.
I stare in the mirror, feeling less and less like myself. The Arcanes had the burns, but they also had the features I’ve been told to hate my whole life. Now, I watch those features blur, turning me into a true Folk once again.
I hand Aralia the makeup. “Off I go,” I say with a smile I don’t feel.
“Good luck.”
I slip out of the suite, walking to the garden and counting the windows until I reach 3A. There are two windows—two rooms. I step back to get a better view.
Through one, I see the back of scruffy blond hair, anxious hands running through it. A moment later, the door opens in the next room over. A boy steps inside, and I catch him in my peripheral vision. The lost arms.
Jermoine is back.
I make my way inside the building, waiting by the door to his suite. When Jermoine comes out, I set my foot before him. He trips.
“Oh my gods!” I say, pitching my voice higher. I drop down, helping him up.
Jermoine jerks away before I can grasp his bicep.
“Are you okay?” I open my eyes wide, blinking a lot and pouting.
“Yeah.” He looks down, stands up, and tries to turn away.
“What’s your first class?” I shout after him.
It works; he turns. I smile softly.
“I’m…” he trails off. “Not going to class. I’m meeting someone.”
I step closer. “Not a girl, I hope.”
His eyebrows furrow. “Why do you hope?” He steps closer, and I suppress a breath of relief. His eyes drop to my mouth—perfectly round and Folk-ish.
“My roommates are gone,” I say, turning and walking toward my new suite. He follows.
We make it to the suite quickly, and I pull Jermoine inside. When the door slams shut, he leans toward my lips. I reach for the dagger at my thigh and smash the hilt against his temple.
He crumples to the floor, and my arms strain as I throw him into the chair. I pause for breath before tying him: his biceps, ankles, knees, even his neck. Then I slice a blade across his chest.
Jermoine’s eyes open slowly, grogginess clouding his gaze. He tries to look down at the blood spilling from his chest, but the ties around his neck keep him in place.
“I have very simple questions that require very simple answers.” I kneel in front of him, my hand resting on the arm of the chair.
“If you can do that, I see no reason to kill you.” I raise the blade to his face, just under his eye, pressing sharply but not cutting—yet.
“If you can’t, your death will be slow.”
Jermoine jerks his head back, trying to move away from my blade. He doesn’t make it far. I press the knife harder, and blood falls from his eye like tears. Just a breath higher and I’d blind him.
“Alright,” Jermoine breathes. “Alright!”
I pull the blade back. “You were in Lucian’s room. What were you doing?”
“Saying hi—”
I place a hand over his chest, feeling for his heartbeat. As his races, mine follows, beating in my temples and pressing at the tips of my fingers. Distantly, he cries, sometimes a scream, but it hardly reaches my ears.
My vision goes white as I dig my fingers into the sensation. His heart—my power—is like a fruit, soft and ripe, melding to my touch. Blood spills like popping a pomegranate seed. My head spins as I take a deep breath, trying not to make a sound.
But the longer I push past the initial pain, the better it feels. My head tips back, eyes closed, the room spinning behind them.
I don’t bother sitting up straight as I ask, “Slow death?”
“Okay, okay,” Jermoine cries.
With a sigh, I let go of his heart. My eyes are half-open, and I have to force my head upright. When I do, Jermoine’s sweat—mixed with the blood from his eye—drips onto his pants. His breath is ragged.
The cut on his face is gonna leave a nasty scar.
“It was Queen Leiana,” he breathes. “She sent me to check on him.”
I force another deep breath. Stars swarm my vision, and I ignore them. “Check on him for what?”
“She didn’t say.”
His heart hammers as I hook onto it. “For what?”
Jermoine cries out with a high-pitched shriek, “To see what he knows!” I raise an eyebrow, and Jermoine continues, “Lucian found something, some sort of silver, and Leiana wanted them back.”
This school for future leaders should really teach its students how to endure torture. If getting their secrets is this easy, they aren’t fit to wear crowns.
“And the Soul Ruby?” I ask as I pull up my sleeves.
“I swear, I don’t know!”
“That’s a real shame,” I mutter. Once more, I stretch my power toward his heart.
But somehow, Jermoine’s hands reappear. As soon as his skin touches mine, the world goes white. Electricity courses through every limb, and I fall. I need to move—to run—but I’m stuck, trapped in my body.
“Jermoine!” I shout.
No answer.
My fingers tingle, and when I can, I reach out. There’s nothing around me. I try to find his heart—but he’s gone. My vision returns little by little. The chair has fallen sideways on the floor. The ropes I tied him with are snapped in two, small burn marks around the ends.
Fucking Folk magic.
I nearly scream. Instead, I rise, running out of the room and searching the halls for Jermoine. But something claws at the outskirts of my mind. The halls around me twist and turn, making it hard to tell up from down. I have to find Jermoine, so I force myself to stay upright.
Still, that clawing pulls at the loose threads of my mind, threatening to unravel me. I can’t collapse. Not now.
Jermoine is nowhere to be found—but a girl walks past. She might have seen him. She might know something. I grab her wrists, and she glances up. Then I reach for her heart, trying to clot her blood the way the Arcanes did to me.
The girl opens her mouth, a shrill cry escaping.
I would never sob at this kind of pain. This isn’t even the worst I can do.
I search for something other than a heart to get hold of—another organ, something to keep her still.
My fingers seem to dip in liquid when I finally reach her blood. It solidifies around me, and I grab it.
She freezes. For a moment, I do too. It’s the only thing that keeps me standing. When movement returns, we both crash to our knees. But I’m able to pry myself back up, dragging the girl to my room. She screams the whole way, but we’re close. Hopefully, no one hears.
I throw her in the chair, my hand in a fist as I hold onto her blood, keeping it clotted. I see the red of her veins all around me, like stars on a clear night.
“Keep screaming and I’ll kill you.” I hold a knife to her throat, and she shuts up. “Which way did Jermoine go?”
That stupid Soul Ruby is the only thing I have left. The one thing I need more than anything. Jermoine was lying when he said he didn’t know about the Soul Ruby—that’s why he ran. I have to get to him.
The girl whimpers, her eyes darting to the steel against her skin. I’m so disappointed in the kids here. How are they going to rule when anyone from the septic could put them on the floor in seconds?
“H—he doesn’t attend Visnatus anymore.”
“I will cut you open—” I try to speak, but it doesn’t feel like I open my mouth. Do I? “I’ll—” The room spins. I grab onto the armchair, holding myself up. “I’ll—”
The dagger falls from my hands. My knees buckle.
The girl screams, begging for help. I clamp a hand over her mouth and fall forward. My forehead hits the side of the chair, and I collapse to the ground, lifting a hand to my temple. There’s blood on my finger. Is it mine?
I claw for composure, trying to push myself forward. I see something carved into the wood of the dresser.
Breck + Artica.
This is Breck’s room.
The girl screams her head off. Darkness fills the corners of my vision. I’m staying in the room of a boy I killed. Where guilt should live, there’s nothing. Something inside me died, and I don’t know when. But how can I not even force myself to care when the murder once plagued me?
Maybe because I’ve killed hundreds. Thousands, even.
I’m just like Mial.
When I met him, I didn’t expect to miss him. Now, he’s the only person who understands me, the only one who knows what I am and doesn’t judge.
I want to go back.
Little by little, the girl’s screams cease, but I don’t think she actually stops. I think the world just slips away from me.