Chapter 50 The Future
The sun is a bright coin over the city by the time I make it back to my room, but many of the palace inhabitants are just now dragging themselves to bed.
I am crying, the tears falling too rapidly for me to brush away and pretend it isn't happening, so I turn my face away when anyone glances my way.
My room isn't even my own.
It is Cherry's room. In the weeks following the overthrow of the king, Vakhrin, Marton, Cherry, and I all camped out in Cherry's chambers together, unwilling to be parted from one another in case of possible danger or treachery in the night.
But as the palace settled and we began to feel safe, eventually, Vakhrin and Marton both moved to their own quarters.
Only I have remained sharing a room with Cherry, a habit established from long ago.
Another cycle I have not been able to break.
Cherry is already fast asleep when I stumble into the bedroom.
She is passed out face down on the downy bedding, still in her party dress and reeking of wine.
Snoring with her mouth open.
The portrait of queenliness.
It would be funny except I am trying so hard to keep my sobs contained, so as not to wake her.
Leaving on my own dress, I pull the covers back and crawl under them, pulling them up over my head and burying my face in the pillow. And I cry.
The days and weeks that follow pass away so quickly that each dawning morning makes my stomach ache.
Everyone works tirelessly to see the kingdom set to rights, to see the city settled.
There are new laws to pass an old ones to repeal.
Borders to open and treaties to signs. Promises to make and services to offer to the traumatized and injured victims of the king.
There are punishments to mete out for his accomplices and investigations to mount to uncover just who those accomplices were.
From the residents of the palace, we continue to learn much about what the king spent his time and resources on all these years.
We learn the kingdom was engaged in lucrative but strangely secretive trade with the nation of Olio, that King Coatl often took ship to visit the Olion royals and discuss plans for their mutual benefit.
Any more information than that seems to have been carefully kept from the minds of the Ithymian guards and courtiers.
Cherry passes a decree to halt all trade with Olio until more information can be gathered.
Other than that, we learn that relations with the nation of Umrahs are strained and with Rohus, non-existent.
Our closest ally is Philostia, whose current king and queen are described by most as vapid and arrogant, more concerned with their nation's culture and arts portfolio than with any of the real issues in the realm.
"It's rather bleak," says Cherry one night, a glass of wine untouched on the dinner table amid a scatter of parchments and scrolls, her forehead cradled in one palm as she attempts to massage the tension from her brow.
"The allies that we do have are vile, or useless, and anyone we might want to ally with wouldn't come within a mile of our borders.
"
"You'll change that," Vakh reminds her, never taking his eyes of the letter he has been meticulously penning, hoping to reach some of his acquaintances in Umrahs to let them know of Ithyma's new queen—the truth of her and what she hopes to offer for the kin.
Marton has been looking at maps.
"When I'm out there—" he begins. I stiffen, and his eyes dart to me for a protracted moment.
I study the upholstery of the dining chairs.
"When I'm out there," he continues, clearing his throat, "I'll also have the opportunity to spread the news of what has happened here.
To talk to people of the new Ithyma."
Cherry sighs, nodding her head, letting herself be comforted by their words.
Marton announced nearly a month ago now that he planned to depart the capital eventually, to continue his travels and his studies.
That eventually has now become soon and Cherry has had the palace craftsmen busy supplying him with everything he might need on his journey.
I am trying not to be angry at her for it.
Of course he will need supplies, and he will leave with or without them.
But more and more often I find myself hiding from the company of my friends, too steeped in conflicting impulses to be around any of them.
I want to hold onto them and push them away.
I want to go and I want to stay.
I have taken to spending many an afternoon, of all places, in the dungeon.
I spend much time talking to Yroa, who spends much time ignoring me.
..so perhaps it's more accurate to say I spend much time talking at Yroa.
Sometimes I try to convince her to leave the dungeon with longwinded speeches about redemption.
Sometimes I try bribing or threatening her out.
And sometimes I just talk to annoy her, telling her about what I had for dinner the night before or describing to her in exhaustive detail each of the dresses the seamstresses have made for Cherry in the last few weeks.
And there are a lot of dresses.
Yroa glares daggers at me or ignores me by turn.
I have gotten to know some of the other prisoners in the dungeons as well.
While the basilisks are kept in solitary cells down a winding tunnel—under locks and chains that not even the dungeon guards have keys to—the main hall of cells is full of the remaining dragons, wyverns, and gorgons of the old palace guard and the odd noble and courtier who willingly followed the king.
One of the prisoners I have gotten to know is the man in the cell that neighbor's Yroa's.
Sthenno. The gorgon whose hand Cherry sliced off with a sword to save my life.
He seems to be in good spirits about the whole ordeal.
"Never much liked that hand anyway," he told me one day with a cheeky grin.
When I only stared at him, he grimaced.
"Apologies about the..." He mimed strangulation with one hand, his other arm ending in a white-bandaged stump.
When I still said nothing, he continued.
"I suppose that's why the queen is keeping me down here.
Hard feelings."
That gave me pause.
"Have you not been tried and sentenced?"
"Naw.
" He shook his head. "I figure if they gave me a trial, then the queen would have to let me go like all the others who's minds were messed with.
And I get why she doesn't want to let me go.
You being her best friend and princess and all.
" He mimed strangling himself again.
"Perhaps you should stop doing that," I advised, nodding to the gesture.
"Ah." He nodded back. "If you think it would help.
" He shrugged.
That was weeks ago, and he has still not been scheduled for a trial, though all of the other prisoners have been sentenced or released.
I have spoken to Cherry about it, and she told me she was waiting for her feelings of anger and fear to fade before she pardoned him.
All the other guards have spoken up for his character, and even Yroa has stirred herself to assure me that he would never have done what he did outside of the king's influence.
Like many in the castle, he had looked forward to the day when Ithyma's princess would one day be returned to them.
I think he will make Cherry a loyal guard one day, if she can forgive him.
But thinking about the future in any capacity these days makes me want to go up to Cherry's room and scream into an embroidered pillow. So I do.
I am standing at the balcony rails, watching Marton's things packed into a covered wagon.
Cherry is sending him off with a pair of guards—one human knight and one gorgon from the palace with a hankering to see the world.
And she is sending him off with more supplies than we carried in all our months of travel to get here.
Parchments and quills and ink. Maps and books and navigational tools.
Sacks of barley and apples and wedges of cheese.
Skins of water and wine. Clothes, blankets, bedding.
New boots and leathergoods. Fire making implements.
Goods for trade. Bags of coin. Anything that he could need.
It is kind of her.
In this moment, I hate her.
I hate them both.
I think there is a part of me that did not really believe Marton would leave me.
Selfish of me. Petty. Stupid.
I know Marton.
He does not hurt himself.
He forgives those who hurt him—far too easily.
He throws himself into danger without a second thought.
But emotionally, when it comes to the things he wants in life, he does not compromise.
He is honest and straightforward, and he goes after the things he wants.
I have seen it—the first time he kissed me, and when he told me he loved me.
And before that, when he left the Academy to chase legends of magic because it was what he wanted more than anything.
And I know it is still what he wants.
To see the world and learn about all the magic it contains.
I know he loves me, but he will not hurt himself for me.
Marton is healthy.
Usually, I love that about him. It makes me feel secure in his affections.
I know he doesn't want me as part of some deranged, deadly fantasy.
He wants me purely and honestly and with all of his goodness.
Watching him cross the courtyard towards his cart of supplies, I find I am gripping the rail so hard the stone gives beneath my palms, a fine shower of dust falling to litter the balcony floor and the tops of my feet.
I have still not taken to wearing shoes, despite the horror of the palace servants and courtiers.
Marton finds it charming and teases me for it.
My heart sinks like a stone in my chest cavity.
That will be a memory soon and not a fond present occurrence.
The future is looming at the door. Marton will be out in the world, exploring and making friends and putting himself in danger. ..
And I will be here. Doing...what? Why can I imagine his future so much more clearly than my own?
The morning wears on and the preparations continue, servants moving to and fro across the grounds with bags and parcels and horses to be hitched to the wagon.
I watch Marton direct the chaos, calmly and politely giving instructions or answering questions.
He laughs with the stablehands about something, white teeth flashing amidst all his golden skin.
His white tunic and unbound hair make him look like the prince from a fairy story.
At some point, Cherry joins me at the railing, though I do not notice her arrival until she speaks.
"I'm so lucky to have met you, Tarah."
I startle, tearing my gaze from Marton to look at her. She smiles at me fondly. Bumps my shoulder with her own. "I'm serious. Where would I have been without you? Who would I have been?"
I shake my head. "I spoiled you when I shouldn't have, and was too hard on you in other ways."
"You are my sister. I think that's normal." She places her hand over mine. "What's important is that I always had you to love me. To protect me. Support me. You got me here." She spreads her hands, leaving my hand alone on the railing. "I'm queen because of you."
"Not just me. We had help."
"Maybe not just you, Tarah. But you especially. You before anyone else. The first person to see me. The one who helped me when there wasn't anyone else. It was you and I in that dungeon. It was you who held off the guard while..." She trails off.
"It was you who held the sword," I finish in a whisper. We haven't spoken of it. What happened that day with Cherry's father. We've spoken of a thousand details of the before and the after. But that moment on the dais, the sword in Cherry's hand, her father's blood on the marble...
We have not spoken of that, not since Cherry's confession in the event's immediate aftermath.
I knew the sword was going to be sharp.
Meaning she killed him knowing exactly what it was she was doing.
Not in anger or vengeance or cold blooded calculation.
It was desperate necessity that drove her, I know.
I still hate it was her hand that did it.
I wish I could have taken this death from her.
I could have born another on my conscience.
But Cherry... this was her first kill. To have it be her father. ..
I worry how the memory will haunt her, when she has more time to sit still and think of it.
These past months have been far too busy for dwelling, but things won't always be like this.
The grief and the horror will catch up with her one day.
I need to be there for her when it happens.
For a moment, we simply stand side by side, watching the commotion of the courtyard together.
Cherry clears her throat, breaking the quiet tension.
"What I meant to say is that it's enough, Tarah.
" I turn to her in confusion. She regards me levelly, blue eyes serious.
"You've done enough."
"I.
..what?"
"Thank you, for being my friend and protector.
Thank you for being with me, my whole life.
I love you more than anything. Which is why I have to say this.
"
"Say wha—"
"Tarah," she speaks over me, "Princess of Ithyma and First Appointed Heir to the Throne, I command you to go.
"
"Go?" I am staring at her in bewilderment, watching tears swim in her eyes.
She is smiling, and her posture is steely with determination.
The competing elements of the picture make my head spin.
"The scholar Marton Hastings is being sent on official royal dispatch to explore the realm and report back.
And I am officially sending you, the Princess of Ithyma, to go with him.
As my ambassador and his protector. I think—"
When her first tears spill over, I interrupt her.
"Cherry. Cherry, stop. I-I appreciate what you're doing.
" I shake my head to clear my own blurry vision.
"But this can't— I can't leave you. I won't."
Lips quivering, Cherry steps forward, grasping both my hands in her own, grip strong enough that it almost does hurt me.
"Thank you for your loyalty, Tarah. But I don't want to be a thing that you have to do.
Some obligation that you stay for and damn what you want.
Look around. We are not in the tower anymore.
We are not alone in the world anymore. I will be safe here, even without you—" She shakes her head when I try to interrupt.
"I will be. And you will be safe, and real, and happy, and meaningful, even without me.
"
How she knows the exact fears that have haunted me all my life, I do not know, but her words make my own tears fall.
She brushes them away with her sleeve, the first time she has ever taken care of me in this way.
"Marton loves you, and you love him. And more importantly, I know the two of you both dream of seeing the world.
So don't think of it as a choice between who you will sacrifice more for, or who you love more, me or him.
None of that matters. What matters is that you finally get your dream, Tarah.
For once, I want you to finally fly free.
Explore all the places on those maps you love to look at.
Chase down the truth to all the stories Marton tells.
Go, Tarah. Be happy. And know that you can always come back.
Your home will be here waiting."
Letting a sob break free, I crush her into my arms for a hug. We do not let go for a long time.
It is afternoon by the time I make it down to the courtyard.
I have seen and spoken to many people in the intervening hours, and been all over the palace in a mad dash of busyness.
It seems like the one person in the palace who I have not seen is Marton, but when I get down to the courtyard he is still nowhere in sight.
I look around for a head of golden hair or princely white shirt, but no sign of either.
I peer into the back of the wagon at the neatly packed supplies.
My lips twist in thought.
I wander around the wagon, looking at the way the horses are tied.
There are two hitched at the front of the wagon to pull it and two more tied with simple ropes to the back, to switch out when the lead pair is in need of a break.
I place my hand on the knot holding one of the backup horses' bridles to the wagon.
Then I begin to untie it. I've just about got it when Marton's voice interrupts me.
"What are you doing?"
I whip around to find him staring at me in surprise and maybe.
..annoyance?
"You won't need these," I tell him, holding up the now loose rope.
Marton stares at me. And stares.
And stares.
For a moment I don't think he'll understand.
I think he might get angry.
Then he begins to smile.