Chapter 27.5 The Confession
Again, she pulls herself together much more quickly than I'm expecting.
All too soon, she steps back with only a few sniffles and wet eyes.
She gives me a rueful grin, which looks painful on her face.
I try to think of something to say, but the lump in my throat is too big to speak around now, and Cherry just wipes at her cheeks before going on, "But the last thing—the last thing that really changed me—it wasn't the violence or the cruelty Vakh and I received over the last few weeks.
It was the kindness. It was Hamish...and Araine.
Your—Your sister." Cherry smile is forced now, and even harder to look at than her tears.
"I grew up in a palace where power was born and not earned, and I never thought about what it would be like, to really try to deserve the position I was born for.
But Araine—I only saw her a few times these weeks, but she was always so.
..powerful. So good. She reminded me of you, with the way she was always looking out for her people.
The way she even tried to look after me, because she didn't want me starving or freezing or being killed here in the Trove.
For her own reasons, but—I think it was for goodness, too.
Because she's like you. She's a protector.
And people have respected and looked up to her for it.
They've put her in charge, because they trust her so much.
"Seeing that, somehow, it made me finally realize what I had always selfishly ignored before.
That you were the one who deserved to be respected, and looked up to, and cherished.
That I hadn't done anything to earn what you'd given me, and I'd taken it from you as if it was my due.
That you'd done everything for me, and I had treated it like an annoyance at best, because sometimes you wouldn't let me have my way.
So I'm sorry, Tarah. I'm sorry for the way I've been, and the way I've forced you to be, and for all the years of unfairness between us.
And I wanted to say thank you, for saving my life too many times to count, and for everything else, too. "
"You don't," I gasp, mind reeling, stomach feeling gutted. "You don't have to thank me."
She reaches for me again, eyes bright with gratitude. "I do. You've been—" I interrupt by jerking back, all but stumbling away from her.
"What I mean is please don't thank me." I fetch up against the tunnel wall, feeling trapped. "Please don't—"
"Tarah?" Cherry's face is pinched with concern. But I can't make her feel better about this. I don't know how. I don't know how to deal with this at all. It feels like the walls of the world are coming down around me, like everything has been upended.
My relationship with Cherry is the one thing that makes sense in the world. The one place where I know exactly how to act, what to do. The one place I belong.
And now I don't even have that any more. And I don't have Marton.
I don't have anything.
"I c-can't," I tell Cherry, hugging myself against the cold.
But it doesn't help, because the cold is coming from inside.
I'm chilled to the bone, or from the bone.
"I don't know what you mean. What you're saying.
You don't—You don't want me anymore? For us to be like we were?
" There are tears in my voice, and I think they're in my eyes too.
I can't quite see Cherry's expression, but she steps up close to me, soft human hand gripping my forearm.
"I want us to be better than we were, Tarah. I want to protect you, too. I want to give as much as you give me. To be a better friend than I've been."
"I don't need you to protect me," I choke. "I don't want it. I don't want it. I don't—"
Cherry's arms go around me, and I realize to my horror that I'm shaking. My whole body is trembling, and for the first time ever, Cherry's arms are holding me. Comforting me.
Everything is backwards and upside down and horrible.
I choke panicked breaths into the front of her tunic, and she pats my back tentatively, like she isn't really sure how it works. It makes me feel better that she's no good at this.
"I still need you, Tarah," Cherry's voice is strained. "I'm still vulnerable. I'm still the very-much-human Ithymian princess, and I'm going to need you now more than ever."
Something about what she says sticks in my mind enough that I pull back. I struggle to catch my breath and look at her. "Need me more than ever? Why?" Dread fills me at the determined glint that enters her eyes.
"Because," Cherry says, straightening her ill-fitting, borrowed clothes, "the nation of Ithyma is being held hostage by the basilisk king.
By my father. And I've never done anything for my people before.
I've never protected anyone. But that changes now.
I'm going back to the capital, and I mean to put a stop to all the lies and deceptions. And I want you to come with me."
"This seems like a really bad idea," Vakh says idly two days later.
He's picking at his nails as he leans against a tree in the clearing at the base of the mountain, pretending not to care very much, although his eyes are anxious.
We're outside so he can get the gentle exercise and fresh air prescribed by Hamish to aid in his recovery.
Vakhrin has made almost a full recovery from his injuries in the last few days. He still limps slightly on his mending fracture, and winces when a motion strains his ribs, but he's been walking and interacting with our allies in the Trove as if he's perfectly fine.
Even Hamish is ready to give him the okay for traveling, if not for fighting.
It's why Cherry and I picked today as the best time to tell him about our plans to return to Ithyma.
And to tell Marton, who has come with us, and is now pacing back and forth across the loose shale rock along one side of the clearing, his posture emanating tension.
I didn't want to tell Marton anything, and I've been studiously avoiding him for days—unable to look at him or be alone with him since I know it will lead to the conversation I most want to avoid. But Cherry insisted on telling them both.
Despite our conversation before, and her resolution to be a more considerate friend, we've fallen almost back into our old roles, for which I'm grateful.
With her dead set on challenging the king, and needing my help to do it, I'm able to slip back into the skin of willing protector and stalwart supporter without her seeming to notice.
Still, she's trying to be less bossy, regularly asking my opinion and checking in about my feelings.
And I've been lying through my teeth.
I think it's a terrible idea to go back to the capital, to be anywhere near the king.
Knowing what his power might be, and that he likely wants me dead and Cherry disposed of, going back seems like begging for our own graves to be dug.
But if I refuse, she'll try and do it without me. And then I lose her again.
I'm so far past worrying about what's healthy.
All I want now is to be her protector again.
I'd even gladly go back to our tower and pretend none of this ever happened.
That I never learned anything about the kin or the king or the Trove.
That I never met any of the people who matter so much more to me now than I wish they did.
"It's a suicide mission," says Marton, suddenly pivoting on his heel, grinding his boot into the shale as he turns to face us. His eyes are on me. "You heard what Araine said about what basilisks can do. If he is one, there's no way to win."
"And if he's not one?" I address the question to the mountaintop, letting my eyes slide away from Marton to observe the group of young dragons and wyverns practicing flying near one of the promontories.
"If he's not one, then what is there to fight against?"
"Lies," says Cherry at once. "Whether or not my father is a basilisk, it seems evident he's helping to spread misinformation about the protectorkin. He lied about Tarah for years. And that needs to stop. The world needs to know the truth, and all of my people need to be made free."
Vakhrin speaks up in a low voice, "You mean to make Ithyma a safe place for the kin?"
"I do." Cherry's tone is resolute, and her chin tips up with a bit of that old haughty stubbornness. Now turned to the noblest of goals. It almost makes me smile, at the same time as it fills me with prickly fear.
Vakhrin's expression is intent, unreadable for several moments as he gazes at my princess. But his eyes glow, and when he speaks again, his voice is full of certainty. And pride. "Then I will help you."
I hiss between my teeth before I can stop myself, and both Cherry and Vakh look at me.
I can't retract it or explain it, so I say nothing.
I had been counting on both of the boys arguing firmly against this plan. I had been counting on Vakh, especially, with his newfound closeness to Cherry, to talk her out of her fool idea.
I suppose it went the other direction.
I feel Marton's eyes on me, but I don't look at him.
"When do we leave?" asks Vakh.
"You're still healing," I remind him, desperate for any delay. "We won't leave until you're recovered enough for a fight."
Vakh pshaws. "I'll be ready tomorrow. I barely had more time than that to recover between arena bouts."
Cherry seems less certain, glancing between the two of us. I shake my head at her. "Tarah is right," she announces. "We won't leave until you're fully recovered. A few more days, at least."
It's small consolation to me when Vakhrin reluctantly agrees.
We stay out in the cool noon air a while longer, discussing our plan for facing the king. There isn't much of one, since we don't know what we'll find when we get there. We don't know if the king is basilisk or human, or how he'll react to us when we barge into his palace.
Vakh advocates for stealth, for doing reconnaissance on the king before making ourselves known, and I quickly agree, although I can see Cherry doesn't like it.
She wants to slam through the palace doors and demand answers—and justice.
She wants to know why the king sent her away, and what his attitudes are concerning the kin.
She wants to fix things. I understand that desire.
In all our discussion, Marton stays suspiciously quiet.
It isn't like him at all. He's usually the first one with a clever strategy or an idea or an amendment to the plan.
He's Marton. But I realize with a sinking heart that this is probably because he doesn't plan to come with us.
He doesn't care about the plan, because he's going to go his own way.
It makes me want to vomit up my heart, and other vital organs, too, probably. But I'm not going to say anything about it. I'm not going to ask him to stay. I'm not.
I had a momentary lapse that night with the hotwine, and I may or may not have drunkenly clung to him and begged him not to leave me.
The fuzzy half-memory fills me with embarrassment, and it's even more embarrassing to think that the only reason Marton is still here now is because I wrangled a promise out of him when I was drunk.
He's being kind. Taking pity on me. But I know he's probably eager to get away.
To get back out into the world and see what better things it has to offer.
Or maybe he'll head back the Academy and put some of the pieces back together after I helped to shatter both their dome and their worldview in one fell swoop.
When dinnertime rolls around, Vakh's stomach begins grumbling loudly, and Cherry laughs and asks him for a ride back up to the Trove.
I try not to stiffen as he shifts forms and Cherry climbs onto his furry lion's back, her fingers tangling in his mane.
For once, I'm not even upset that it seems like she's choosing him over me.
Instead, I'm chagrinned because this means I'll have to fly with Marton.
I was smarter on the way down here, shifting quickly and grabbing up Cherry as soon as I saw Marton approaching.
So that Vakh had to fly him down and I got to avoid touching or smelling or looking at him.
As Vakh shoves into the sky, Cherry letting out a surprised little squeak at his abrupt movements—dragons are bigger than manticores, so it takes us longer to get into the air—I turn my face away from Marton and reach for the hem of my borrowed dress.
"Wait," Marton says. His voice is terse, not exactly angry, but not kind either. I tense, waiting, even though there's not a single part of me that wants to hear whatever he has to say. Marton huffs an irritated breath when I still don't look at him. "I know you hate this plan."
That startles me. My eyes dart to him without meaning to, and I open my mouth to protest—
"Save it," Marton says, glancing away from me with folded arms. "You were practically spitting when Vakhrin agreed to it, and you were doing everything you could to delay it.
So why are you doing this, Tarah?" It almost seems like he isn't just talking about the plan to confront the king, but I can't be sure. Don't want to.
"Cherry is trying to be the princess Ithyma deserves. She needs my help."
"And you're just going to give her whatever she wants? Again. You're going to pretend that you don't want anything for yourself?"
I don't understand his tone. Now he does seem angry. Angry at Cherry? Or at me? Either way, the thought makes me defensive. "I want to help her. That's all I want. That's all—"
"Oh, bullshit, Tarah!"
I gape, startled by his raised voice and his cursing. I can't even respond. Marton's cheeks are flushed with emotion, his blond hair disheveled where he's run frustrated hands through it. It makes my heart beat faster.
"Bullshit you don't want anything else. Bullshit you don't want anything for yourself. I know you do. You told me what you wanted. You said you wanted to help people. To—"
"This is me helping people!" I practically scream. "I'm helping my best friend. My princess. Maybe helping the entire nation of Ithyma and a whole lot of the kin who do or could live there!"
"You won't be helping anyone if you're dead!
" His shout echoes off the treetops, bounces around the mountain peaks.
I'm stunned by the volume of his rage, by the fierceness in his eyes.
Marton seems stunned as well. After a beat, he winces, and his voice drops lower.
"I know you think it's a bad idea. I know you do.
I don't know why you're going along with it.
If nothing else, I don't know why you'd be willing to put Cherry in danger. "
The softness in his face and voice now make me feel even worse.
Even more defensive. "As if you care about that," I snap.
"As if you care about Cherry. You're always trying to pull me away from her.
To convince me our relationship is toxic.
Well now she's trying to do better"—even if I'm not, I don't feel the need to add—"and you don't seem to like that either.
Maybe you need to move on. Find your own friends to worry about. Pick apart your own life."
I don't mean any of it. I don't even know what I'm saying, really, just words that I think will upset him. I get all the success I could have hoped for when he flinches. And I want to crawl inside my own ribcage and hide.
Feeling more like a monster than I have in days, I fling my dress off over my head, accidentally shredding it with my claws in the process. I toss it away in disgust, and then I'm in my dragon form.
I don't wait for Marton to climb on my back, instead scooping him up in my claws and surging into the air, beating my wings to catch the breeze.
I drop him carefully at the entrance to the Trove that's nearest to Araine and Hamish's quarters. And then I fly up several tunnels higher before landing myself. It isn't really fair to him, using the limitations of his human nature to avoid him. But I don't care.
Angry and offended is better, I decide, than hurt and full of pity for me.
Let it be really easy for him to leave. Let him be eager to get away.
Maybe he won't even say goodbye.
Maybe I can pretend I won't care.