XXII | CAN IT ALL GO BACK TO NORMAL
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"THERE IT IS," Melantha said, snapping Celvene out of her thoughts; the coldness lathering her voice had replaced all of the warmth that had gradually begun to grow in Melantha.
Celvene had seen that Melantha was beginning to not hate Celvene as much.
But now... "I knew it. Why'd you even entertain me if I'm so awful?
Why would you speak to someone so despicable? "
"I didn't say that, Melantha," Celvene replied, running her teeth over her bottom lip.
She'd gotten herself into another situation that she didn't know how to dig herself out of.
Wonderful. "I've... It's hard to believe something you've been told for years upon years isn't true.
I do believe you were a good person. But Noriya isn't ex—"
"Were?" Melantha snorted. "Right, Celvene, because you're such a saint.
I remember what you did in the season going into fifth sun.
I remember what you did to Isla. And I remember what you did when we separated—but I never thought you were a bad person.
I put faith in you. That you were more than your flaws.
Your imperfections. Which, believe me, are plentiful.
So you're going to believe I'm evil because the people around me are evil? Isn't that hypocritical?"
"Yeah, it is," Celvene said, rubbing a tired hand across her face as best she could, the metal chains clinking. "Why can't things go back to normal? Why can't we stop fighting? We could put aside our differences for one second, and just talk, without bickering."
The words made her want to laugh. With how angry Melantha seemed to be, there was no way she would just let it all go.
But it wasn't going to stop Celvene from trying; it would be nice if their relationship could mellow out.
Celvene missed having a friend that stuck by her side through thick and thin.
At least, until the thickness grew too heavy to handle.
She knew she screwed up; she didn't need Melantha to rub salt in the wound.
Celvene needed to ponder how to make it up to Melantha—not just the past few interactions, but dating back to their childhood.
That wasn't going to be easy if she kept coming around, and honestly, it was getting harder and harder to bury the mixture of regret and animosity Celvene harbored towards Melantha the more they spoke.
She had a feeling if the soldier kept weaseling her way into Celvene's life, the bitter distaste Celvene felt would turn into full-blown resentment.
Melantha's features hardened. Celvene noticed she was still wearing the ruby red lipstick she'd worn the night of the ball, and it was slightly smeared in the angle she'd kissed Celvene's hand. How long had Celvene been out?
"Get up," Melantha said.
"Why?" Celvene asked, rubbing her eyes. She almost laid her head down on the feather pillow on her bed, but one cross glare from Melantha had her second guessing the action as she sat up straight.
"I didn't come here to ogle at you. Or to speak. Guess I got distracted. Zelphar wants to speak with you."
"Right," Celvene drawled, the corners of her lips turning up into a small smile. "And then I'll be let free, right? If we're talking impossibilities?"
When Celvene glanced at Melantha out of the corner of her eye, something flashed on the soldier's face. Celvene's eyes narrowed, and a seed of suspicion wedged itself into her heart and buried itself deep. The emotion was gone as fast as it came, and Melantha's thick lips tightened.
"That freedom you're hoping for won't be coming for a while. He didn't tell me why. Well, he didn't tell me at all. My captain told me of your... meeting, and sent me to get you. Zelphar doesn't want to harm you. He wants to talk."
"Talk?" Celvene echoed. The thought was preposterous—her, speaking with the King of Noriya? The Usurper of Lands? The Slayer of Aizaseans?
And, undoubtedly, the man who played a hand in Virion's demise?
"Clean out your ears, Celvene," Melantha said. "You act like this around our king and you'll be thrown into a worse prison."
I'm sure the other prisons are filled with rainbows and moonshine.
But she obliged, standing. Her cuffs slid against each other, the harsh metal grating echoing throughout her small cell. Celvene waited as Melantha unlocked the cell and walked up to her.
To her displeasure, her breathing hitched as Melantha approached her, but the soldier either didn't notice or didn't care.
She undid Celvene's binds, and they fell to the floor with a loud crash.
If Celvene was feeling willing, she would've tried to fight Melantha where they stood.
But in all honesty, she didn't want to fight Melantha, anyway.
But, of course, the second the metal clashed against the floor, she was thinking of the lands she left behind.
If she stayed in Noriya for too long, Aleksandr would have a free claim to the throne.
She was sure he was thrilled Celvene had gone missing, and he hadn't bothered to send out search parties or anything of the sort.
Oriel likely did nothing, seeing as they commented on how powerless they were more than once.
And the rest of her allies—if she could even call them that yet—had about as much power as she did. So none.
Celvene adjusted the cuffs of her black button up, thankful whoever had jailed her had gotten her out of her ball dress and put her in something more comfortable, though the implications of that were mildly unsettling.
Melantha said nothing as she placed a hand on the square of Celvene's back and guided her out of the cell, likely trusting that Celvene wasn't dumb enough to try to fight her off.
Even if Celvene was successful—which she wouldn't be, given how their previous "fights" had turned out—she'd have to make it through, at the very least, a few guards.
Pair that with trying to find her way to an exit to both the castle and Noriya itself, and she was looking at certain improbability.
Celvene rubbed her wrists, the tender skin aching from her old restraints.
Yet the physical pain she felt was no match for the war in her heart—she'd once again hurt a woman she cared for, whether she wanted to admit it or not, and now it was possible she was being sent to face a fate similar to Virion's.
Celvene's journey to Zelphar's throne room was quiet and empty—both things she felt it shouldn't have been. Where were the leers? The snickers? The jests as a disgraced heiress passed by to go face a murderous king?
She'd seen guards, of course, and what appeared to be normal citizens.
The prison was connected to the castle, below the surface, just as Aizasea's was.
It was a fast trip, but Zelphar did one thing correct that Virion did not: he made sure every inch of his castle was protected.
If Celvene didn't believe she'd be dying in about thirty minutes, she'd have taken notes.
The architecture was far more grand than Virion's castle, too.
Aizasea lived up to its status as a port city, dressed in hues of blue and silver.
Noriya, on the other hand... Polished braziers hung from one side of the steatite columns, lighting up most of the throne hall.
The columns stretched from the entrance to the end of the hall, and the braziers hanging from the smooth stone covered the hall in dancing shadows and a warm radiance.
The paintings on the marbled ceiling twirled in the flickering light, though Celvene couldn't make out many of the fine details.
Gargoyles looked down on the wooden floor from their perches on the columns, though their scowls felt oddly welcoming.
A pale gold rug split part of the room in half, and matching banners dangled from the walls.
What Celvene assumed to be Noriya's coat of arms was emblazoned on the corners of the banners.
Between each tapestry hung a small chandelier, decorated in glittering jewels.
All the chandeliers were lit, providing the rest of the hall the braziers couldn't reach with a mesmerizing glow.
They illuminated the artistic portrayals of powerful creatures below them, from graceful soldiers to unicorns flaunting their horns.
A grand throne of red limestone sat beneath a pale baldachin. It was covered in divine patterns, stretching throughout the light stone, and fixed on each of the front legs was a crimson and gold crown.
And, of course, situated in the seat was whom Celvene presumed to be Zelphar himself.
She only looked at him for a second before she knew it was him—and not because he was sitting on a throne.
He radiated godhood; Celvene could tell it thrummed through his veins.
His black skin was adorned with many grisly scars, a reminder of past battles.
So Aleksandr was right—Zelphar fought with his men.
Celvene gulped. Though she wanted to plant her feet into the plush rug, Melantha's hand forced her to continue walking.
A golden crown sat atop Zelphar's head, resting on top of his black curls, streaked with gray, that reached halfway down his forearms. In all honesty, he looked like a normal man.
Celvene wouldn't bat an eye if she saw him wandering the streets of Aizasea.
But something about him felt... different.
And Celvene wasn't sure that was a good thing.
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