Chapter twenty-eight
The lawn of the Denmark castle appears beneath my feet. It’s a cool night made colder by Aris’ presence. I take a moment to marvel at being outdoors, sucking in fresh air, before we keep walking, Aris leading me through familiar front doors.
He hasn’t let go of my hand. Though it’s a twisted reminder of everything I’ve lost, his touch still comforts me. I appreciate it as we go inside; I need comfort—the place is crawling with the Following, every member shooting death stares at me as I pass. Aris has probably informed them of my actions, which are more than enough to earn their hate. Still, the openness of their rage takes me aback. They weren’t so obvious before—especially when Aris was with me.
Notably, Aris does not reprimand them. We just pass by silently, as he leads me to the entry hall. Only the fireplace in the corner helps me remember what this area originally looked like, because it’s now been converted into a massive gathering space. In the center is Aris’ throne on a constructed dais.
There’s already a large crowd here, who bow in increments, making waves as Aris passes.
Aris leads me up a dais and takes a seat on his throne, then releases my hand. I awkwardly stand beside him, not sure what to do. The eyes of everyone make me uncomfortable, especially after being alone for so long. Especially with their open hostility.
What happened to getting tea and finding somewhere relaxing? What happened to discussing how I was “ made ,” or has he already given up on that ridiculous idea?
I follow Aris’ gaze, shrinking back at the sight of Ryan. Ducking as he enters, he looks like an adult entering a playhouse. He doesn’t have his ax, but he is weapon enough.
Elizabeth trails behind him, with a few others—Nora included.
Aris? I say in my mind, waiting for some kind of explanation. This looks like an assembly. What is everyone gathering for ?
Aris ignores me as I shift on my feet, growing more nervous and puzzled.
A few more cultists dressed in black trickle in before the doors swing shut and Aris stands from his throne.
Immediately, the room’s murmurs abate.
“You know of Mary. Once my host,” says Aris, “and then consort.”
My face wrinkles at the word, eyes narrowed and fixed on Aris’ back. He’s wearing a dark jacket that’s fitted to reveal his lithe, powerful form. I hadn’t noticed the details in his outfit before—the embroidered gold and shining buttons. He looks like a king, and, indeed, every face in the crowd stares at him with ardent attention.
“You are aware,” he continues, “that Mary took me from you. She colluded with Jaegen and used magic to warp my mind. For months, she kept me restrained.”
I go still as the expressions of his followers change, morphing from love to hate. Their eyes flit past their god to glare at me.
What is this?
Aris? I push again.
“Most of you wish to know why she still lives, why I brought her here. You hope for punishment, retribution—some would like to act on my behalf. I understand these urges, and I have thought long and hard on how to deal with her.”
“Aris,” I say aloud. I thought that putting me in the hallway was my punishment—showing me my mother, telling me that story about my creation. Was that not enough?
Finally, Aris looks back at me, and my heart cracks at the detached expression on his face. It’s like he’s looking at a bug—one he’s already crushed into a greasy smear and needs only wipe and throw away.
He told me he wasn’t angry anymore, and he isn’t. This is something different: a man seeking vengeance.
“I see it now: there is only one way for you to understand your misdeed,” he tells me. “There is only one way to be punished—for your mind to be altered just as mine was. Nora?”
Altered?
Nora ?
My eyes go huge as the woman steps forward with an expectant look on her face. The memory of the person she wiped rushes through me, the man with the American flag. When Nora was done with him, drool was dripping down his chin.
Yes, I used a spell to change Aris’ memories, but he was still himself. What Nora does is completely different.
There are worse things than death.
My eyes flit to Silva, who watches me with a faint smile. His eyes dance.
I look back at Aris, then Nora, and I bolt.
Try to.
To their credit, the crowd parts as I sprint past, but I realize that it’s not in respect of my escape but to get out of Ryan’s way. In my panic, I hardly register his thundering footsteps, not until gravity switches out from under me.
Ryan hauls me up, single-handedly holding both of my ankles, and carries me back to the dais. I start to instinctively struggle, before freezing as my bones tremble under his tightening grip. It would take the slightest pressure, the littlest of effort, to pulverize bone. To liquify me. I doubt I’d ever be able to walk again.
Ryan suddenly releases me and I fall to the ground before Aris in an unceremonious heap.
“Please,” I say, staring at Aris’ impassive face from the floor. I must look frantic and desperate—that’s how I feel as I think of Nora touching my mind.
Changing me.
I am the last thing that I have. This world has taken everything, but I have had myself. He wants to remove that.
Aris looks at me in a way he has never looked at me before. Removed, indifferent. Unkind.
A flare of hatred rushes through me—how dare he look at me like that! After everything , he stares at me like I am nothing.
“If you want to punish me, then kill me,” I say. I have to hope that his indifference is an act; I have to hope that he feels something and has enough respect for me not to do this. If not respect, then for the beauty of endings, which he has always so adored.
Give me my end, Aris .
He shakes his head. “No death,” he says. “No end, Mary. This is how we move forward.”
“It won’t be moving forward; it’s moving back!” I shout, uncaring of our audience.
Doesn’t he understand? If he changes my memories, it’s proof that whatever we had, whatever we were together, is gone. It’s proof that whoever he was has been thoroughly circumvented, replaced.
He said that he never wanted me to hate him again.
If you do this, Aris…
His jaw sets. Finally, some emotion, but I’d been hoping for regret, not anger. “ You did this,” he says. “Not me. And once you experience it, you will understand the effects of your actions.”
I didn’t enjoy it, I think in a rush. Read my mind. Read it ! I didn’t want to touch you because it felt like I was taking advantage of you. And I told you the truth when you asked for it! I didn’t keep it a secret, and I didn’t want to do it! You know that it hurt me to take your memory.
And yet, you took it. Aris’ voice cuts into my head so violently that my skull vibrates from the pressure. It feels like it might cave in or explode outward or both somehow.
You said that you couldn’t blame me! I’m crying so hard that I can’t speak; if I tried, there would only be hiccuping sobs. Because Sem made me like this, for you.
You don’t believe that.
But you do! You said she made me to be tricky and to play with you. How is it my fault that I did what I did?
He sighs. It’s a quiet noise, but in the large, silent room, it rushes through the crowd. No one moves; everyone watches us. For once, I don’t feel anxious with so much attention on me, and I realize that this is how actors feel on stage when they become another person.
I don’t see the crowd. I don’t care about them. In a jumbled heap on the floor, I am focused on Aris alone.
Blame her , I insist. Or Jaegen. I’m just the pawn. The stupid human.
Look at you trying to worm your way out of this , he remarks. He takes a seat back on his throne, the ends of his lips quirking. For a moment, I think that I might have done something, pleased him, but then, he shakes his head. Unfortunately, it won’t work. This isn’t about the two of them; this is about us. You were played. You have been played all your life. But you have not been played in the way that you played me. And you must be. You must understand.
I do! It was wrong! I understand that it hurt you!
Hurt… Yes.
My hands curl into fists. The pressure on my skull has lightened, and his voice is softer now, almost gentle; it makes me think that I might be able to get through to him.
Aris, it doesn't have to be this way. You could just stop.
I send him pictures of the two of us—moments locked in embrace, how I felt when he handed me shells with a big, goofy grin, the way we watched parrots and the moon and the waves.
I remind him of these things desperately—don’t they matter? Doesn’t he see? We could be happy. It could be like before. Why does it have to end?
He stares at me, his lips tight, strained. I can’t tell what he’s thinking, but for a single, seizing moment, I dare hope that he’ll let me go. I hope that I made an impact, that my memories have imprinted, that our fun together changed him.
“Nora,” says Aris aloud. It’s only a name, but in it lays a decision, and my hope collapses in a cold rush.
“No!” I cry as fingers grip the edges of my forehead.
I try to stand, to move and fight but—
My mind stutters. Slows. My vision blurs around the edge, like I’m drunk and in need of an optometrist. My thinking changes, too; the world becomes abstracted, like a dream or a theory.
There are people looking at me. My gaze slides off of their faces like water on glass, unable to focus for more than a few seconds at a time. I pick a single person out and try to force my gaze to remain on him, but the edges of my vision tunnel and warp like I’m looking through an abnormal lens. Soon, it doesn’t seem like he has a face at all. And is he even still standing there?
Things I used to know the name for—wood, table, chair—these words are erased and I understand only the color. Red. Green. I look at these things and see the shapes of them, hardly registering the purpose they hold.
“No,” I say, voice… wrong .
This is wrong. I remember that I used to be smart. I used to know these things. I used to be able to look at these things and know…
What did I know?
And then, as I know that I knew them, I forget that as well. And all that I know are shapes and colors, warm understanding.
The world reforms.
I know the names of things. I understand the expressions on the faces of others. But my brow wrinkles. Why was I thinking about expressions? Why am I looking at these people, and who are they?
I look around for answers and eventually glance up.
There is a man sitting on a big chair, staring down at me with black eyes. His skin is pale, his limbs long. His beauty is sharp.
He smiles at me and holds out a hand.