Rather Die Than Doubt

Chapter 34 The Key

That night we sit around the fire in the sirens' cave, each of us thinking our private thoughts as dinner crackles over the flames.

Everyone's features are cast in golden relief by the firelight, the damp space almost cozy with how we are packed in next to one another.

I sit next to Marton, almost dozing, full after the deer I hunted with Vakhrin earlier.

Marton pours over one of the texts he has brought from the Trove, the rhythmic sound of pages turning lulling me to relax against the cave wall.

It would not take much, just a few inches of space, for me to rest my head on Marton's shoulder.

Across the fire, Vakhrin is stretched out on his back, humming, next to Cherry who is quietly mending a dress.

Emilia sits beside her, leaning close to ask quiet questions about the stitching and fabric.

Cherry answers her with good humor.

Yaun is busily turning the meat on the spit over the fire and stirring the stew that bubbles beside it.

Nerris fusses over Brot, the youngest of the sirens.

She is trying to give him a haircut, which he does not want.

Their conversation is whispered, Nerris glancing self-consciously at the rest of us every so often, as if wary of disturbing us.

We left the Graveyard not long after the revelation about the Serpent King's species.

No one could focus on perusing the ruins with this new information on their minds.

We have asked and were told everything about the Serpent King that the young sirens could recall.

It was not much. They have never met nor seen him, only heard stories.

It sends chills down my spine to think of another king, another powerful figure in our world, who might be a basilisk.

It points to the history Araine shared with us all being true.

That basilisks used the downfall of the kin to seize power for themselves.

And how many of them are in positions of power even now, hundreds of years later?

If putting the world to rights means defeating not one, but many, many basilisks.

..well, I'm not sure how we would go about defeating even one of them.

That's the issue still.

That's what the now-burnt library here at Tombland Lake was supposed to tell us.

"Yaun," I speak the name of the prickliest siren aloud before I have consciously decided to.

He glances up at me, expression half wary and half suspicious.

"Yes?"

"Have you ever heard.

..a story of someone...defeating a basilisk?

"

Yaun is thoughtful for a moment.

His shoulders draw up around his ears, not quite a shrug.

"I've only ever heard of one basilisk. And he hasn't been defeated.

"

Disappointment fills me, until Nerris makes a quiet noise of disagreement.

When I look at her, she smiles embarrassedly, smoothing down Brot's untrimmed hair as she sits her scissors aside.

"Our mother used to tell us children's tales about heroes defeating monsters.

A lot of..." a slight, apologetic cringe in my direction, "a lot of those monsters were Dragomira.

Dragons sitting on hoards of treasure or gorgons turning people to stone.

But it was always basilisks that scared me the worst. With basilisks, the danger wasn't just physical.

They had the power to corrupt the mind, to make you think things were real that weren't. It takes a different kind of hero, to fight a basilisk.

"

"How did the heroes do it?

" I can't stop myself from asking, as if the answer to all our problems could really be a children's story.

Nerris fiddles with the scissors beside her, glancing at her brother and sister. "Well, with faith."

Emilia nods, and Yaun stares down at his hands in his lap.

"What do you mean?"

"A basilisk tries to change your mind's reality, right? To make you believe that something not real is really happening. That the truth is the lie."

A nod.

"Well, then the heroes in the story books have to believe the truth, no matter what. They have to believe twice as hard as they usually would, and keep the faith even when their own senses tell them faith is foolishness."

I swallow hard, thinking on those words.

No one speaks for a long moment.

"Rather die than doubt," Marton whispers, quiet in the stillness of the cave.

I watch a drip of fat fall from the meat over the fire. It sizzles as it disappears into the flame.

We stay at Tombland Lake for three days.

By day, we bathe in the cool waters, spar, hunt, and take turns combing the ruins for anything useful that might have been left undiscovered all these years.

There isn't anything.

We also see how the sirens live.

Nerris shows me how she catches a fish with her bare hands, standing with perfect stillness in her siren form in the water, until, like lightning, she strikes, darting one hand in the water and coming up with a wiggling trout.

I fail spectacularly when I attempt this, and for all that Vakhrin mocks me for it, he never attempts it himself.

No, he spends all his time playing sharks and minnows in the shallows of the lake with Brot, scaring away all the fish.

After Yaun spends several evenings by the fire watching Marton read with an envious look in his eyes, I catch the two of them the next day, Marton helping Yaun sound out difficult words from the tome.

I notice the book disappears from Marton's possession, and see Yaun reading it on a boulder in the sun one afternoon.

Cherry spends hours showing Emilia how to sow, walking her through the process of stitching a hem, how to treat different sorts of fabrics with care.

On the last day before we leave, Cherry shows Emilia what she has been working on.

A lump rises in my throat. Cherry has picked apart one of her last remaining dresses, the once crimson fabric faded to the palest pink, and used the cloth to stitch a child sized dress for Emilia.

Emilia is nearly in tears as she trades her ratty gray shift for Cherry's creation.

She touches the pink fabric over her sides as if it is the finest silk.

Cherry has always made dresses for me, or meticulously stitched my old ones back together after I tore through them time and again.

I wonder when it was that I stopped thanking her for it.

I wonder when the exact moment was that she decided I am more trouble than I'm worth.

Cherry has not spoken to me in four days.

Not since we first arrived at the lake and she scolded me for my plan to approach the sirens.

"We'll set out tomorrow," says Marton that evening, carefully wrapping a clean strip of cloth around the gash on my palm I received while sparring with Vakhrin that afternoon.

In weeks past, Marton was more distressed about the scrapes and bruises I received while tussling with the manticore, but lately he has lapsed into a calm acceptance, though he insists on caring for each cut and scrape as if I am a child.

I pretend to be annoyed. "How long do you think it will take us to reach the capital?

"

"It is two weeks away by carriage, the way Cherry traveled before.

I reckon I can make the distance in a day or two.

Half a week at most."

"Half a week," he repeats, tone thoughtful.

He has finished wrapping the cloth around my hand and now knots it with infinite gentleness.

His careful grip on my wrist sends tingles all the way up my arm.

I lean toward him without thinking, moving closer like a flower turning to the sun.

If he notices, his only response is a gentle stroke along the side of my wrist before he releases me.

His eyes flit from me to Cherry where she sits with Emilia on the other side of the fire, engaged in her final sewing lesson with the young siren.

"It seems wrong to leave them here, without doing more for them," I say.

Marton nods. "What could we do, though?

"

I shake my head. We have nowhere to send them.

No friends to take them in. I consider my sister and the dragons of the Trove, but they live far from any major body of water, and that seems to be a prerequisite for the sirens.

We have nothing to give them either.

No money and no resources.

"Once we restore Cherry as Princess of Ithyma, she will be able to help them.

"

Marton's hand finds mine, toying with my fingers, reaching just to the edge of the bandage.

He seems to debate his next words. "Can we speak.

..outside? There are things we need to discuss, before facing the king.

"

My heart lurches in trepidation.

"What things?"

"Outside.

" He tips his head to the cave mouth. I follow him out of the cave, stopping on the narrow ledge of rock that leads down into the night dark water.

The moon and stars are reflected on the dark surface in the center of the lake.

The air around us is alive with the cries of bullfrogs and night owls, insects buzzing and fish splashing in the shallows.

It is not a quiet night exactly, but it feels heavy and thick, comforting like a blanket.

We skirt the edge of the cave and lean against the rock wall side by side, out of earshot of the others.

Marton swallows. He takes my hand again, his grip on my fingers tightening, still avoiding my injury.

"Nerris said that to defeat a basilisk, you have to believe the truth no matter what.

And—well, in order to believe the truth you have to know it.

To hear it. And there are parts of the truth you haven't heard from me.

"

My hand prickles with sweat in his grip.

"What are you saying? What haven't you—?

"

He cuts me off before I can finish the question, blurting the words, "I love you.

"

My mind goes momentarily blank.

Silent.

I love you, he said. I love you.

The words ringing in my ears, I draw in a sharp breath, and the first thing out of my mouth is, "What?

" I cringe after asking the question.

Of course I have heard him clearly. Know exactly what he means.

"No. I mean— That's—"

Marton wears a self-deprecating smile as he grips both my hands to pull them away from my face, which I hadn't realized I was covering.

"You don't have to say it back, Tarah. That's not why I told you.

I wanted you to know it. So that if the king makes you see or hear something that causes you to doubt it, you will have an easier time believing otherwise.

And I hope you had reasons to believe I love you, even before I said the words.

"

I stare at him. Golden hair silver in the moonlight.

Eyes glowing with emotion. He is still holding onto my hands.

Of course I have reason to believe that he loves me.

He has never looked at me with anything but admiration.

He has always been kind. Has always been interested in me.

He has never left me or insulted me or mocked me, no matter how many terrible sides of myself I showed him.

I find I can know he loves me in an intellectual sense.

But what I can't understand is—

"Why?

"

Marton shakes his head.

Turning from me, he tips his head back against the exterior cave wall, smiling up at the sky.

"Does there have to be a reason?"

That is not the answer I am expecting.

My confusion must show, because Marton casts a glance at me and revises.

"There are reasons. I know I had plenty of reasons to begin.

I looked at you and found you beautiful.

I spoke to you and found you clever and kind and brave.

I was enchanted by your magic. Drawn in by your vulnerability, occasional though it is.

Amazed by your selflessness, your drive to help others.

And I have also been horrified by your capacity for self-hatred, hurt by your lashing out, worried for you, sad over you, confused by you.

"My point is...there were reasons to begin to love you, when I began.

But I think I am beyond them now. I just love you, Tarah, and it's not for any one reason or set of reasons.

It's not in spite of anything or because of anything.

It's—it just is. I love you. Does there have to be a reason?

Can't I just love you?"

It's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard.

Of course there have to be reasons to love people.

Otherwise it's just... You would just...

Well, everyone would just love everyone if there didn't have to be a reason.

I can't think of a way to explain that to Marton without admitting that I love him for very specific reasons, which include every single aspect of his personality, mind, body, face, and heart.

I scoff at him.

He grins at me.

Tipping his face down to mine, he bites me on the tip of the nose.

"I love you," he whispers.

"I—" The words claw up my throat but don't make it out of my mouth.

"Kiss me," I say instead, desperate to keep him looking at me like that.

He studies my face for a long moment.

Leaning down again, he presses his lips to mine in a chaste, lingering kiss.

I try to tip my chin up, to part my lips, but he pulls back.

His thumb and forefinger pinch my chin, holding me in place.

"Not yet," he decides.

"What?

" I complain.

He looks pained.

"I do want to kiss you."

"Well, then—"

He speaks over me, "But I don't want to kiss you because you're confused and looking for a way to avoid a difficult conversation.

I want to kiss you because you love me too.

"

"I hate you."

He laughs, loud and surprised.

Kisses my nose. Cheek. Temple. "Let's go inside. "

We depart the lake the next morning. The space between Marton and I seems to crackle with electricity as we pack up and bid the sirens goodbye.

We are leaving them with a goodly portion of the clothing, books, and other supplies provided us by the Trove.

We will be at the palace soon one way or another, so we will not need them in the same way the sirens do.

Still, my heart aches to be leaving them all alone here at the lake.

For all their resourcefulness and strength, they are children.

Younger even than Cherry and I once were, when we had to learn to take care of ourselves.

"Good luck on your mission," says Nerris to me before I shift into my dragon form.

"If we succeed..." I begin.

I look around at the three siren siblings and their young cousin, arrayed facing us just as they were on the day we first met, "If we succeed, I hope the four of you will come stay at the palace for a time.

Or we can see about finding you some other place.

A real home."

None of the sirens reply to that, looking differing degrees of stricken and sad.

I hope they don't think we're all going to die.

We have told them what we suspect about the King of Ithyma.

What we are going there to do. To confront him and find answers.

To claim Cherry's birthright that he stole.

That he used me to steal from her.

"May the Mother of the Tides guide you on your way, dragon.

" The formal words, spoken half-sardonically by Yaun, are the nicest he has ever said to me.

I barely resist pulling him into a hug. I am not a hugger, but the boy desperately needs to be nurtured.

He is too prickly by half.

I wonder if that is how Marton feels about me.

Then I flush, thinking about how Marton says he feels about me.

He loves me.

After sleeping on the words for a full night, they still do not seem real.

All too soon, our departure cannot be delayed any longer, and we are loaded up and soaring over the treetops, flying in nearly the direction we came.

The lake recedes into mirrored glass and then into a silver coin and then into nothing at all behind us.

We are all quiet and subdued when we make camp that night beneath the bows of an oak tree in the Royal Forest.

As we sit around the fire that night, each of us, I think, misses the presence of the siren children in different ways.

Cherry has no one to sew with and Marton has no one as interested in his books as he is.

Vakhrin's little shadow is gone, and I miss Nerris's quiet intelligence and goodness.

"I could tell a story," I say hesitantly, to Cherry more than anyone else.

I want to do something to take the quiet gloom from her face.

She doesn't quite meet me eyes.

"No thanks," she says. "I'm tired."

Those are the last words she speaks to me for two days.