ASMO
“That was a fucking disaster.”
The frigid air bites against my skin as I exit the castle. Despite the High Castle being nowhere north, the temperatures here get too cold for my liking. Even on the coldest days of winter, it never gets this cold in the City of Sand.
“What did you expect?” Marik asks. “You have a penchant for these sorts of things.”
I grunt. He might have a point.
“What happened when you two spoke privately?” he asks, shoving his hands in his pockets and hunching forward. My brother was never one for the cold, either.
Loose pebbles skitter as I step from the main path, back to the guest cottage. When Ivan first showed us our lodgings, I almost funneled right back home, to its concrete buildings and clean angles. Its sunbaked rocks and warm sand.
Marik clears his throat. A reminder of the question.
“I told her the truth.”
“Which is…?”
“That I don’t want to be here.”
Marik’s sigh is impressive, somehow full of disappointment and humor. He must have inherited that from Father. The sigh that always morphed into a smile whenever we failed, whenever we cried, whenever we screamed. Whenever it meant he’d just get to enact whatever hell he had created upon us again.
“Az…Just pretend,” he whispers.
Just pretend. Pretending was never my strong suit. Marik, on the other hand, was always better at it. Pretending when he wasn’t about to break down. But I could always tell.
“There’s no point to it,” I grumble. “You know it, Mar. I’m to be the Serpent King, not the fucking High King. I have to. There is no other choice.” But that’s a lie. If I really wanted, I could become the High King and Marik could lead our court.
But that would mean Marik would inherit the throne below. And he’s not strong enough for that.
It is a blessing and a curse. But mostly a curse. Actually, it’s entirely a curse.
The cottage door swings open. I shut it behind us and flip the deadbolt.
“Leave it unlocked,” Marik says, “for the others.”
“They’ll figure it out,” I say with a shrug before trudging upstairs.
The room I selected is the largest. According to the Chief Advisor—or whatever he calls himself—this was the original Deer King and Queen’s cottage.
They lived here as the castle was being built.
I chose their old bedroom. If I’m not going to the High King, I can at least sleep comfortably while I’m here.
Across the hall, Marik’s door shuts. I think I hear a muffled “Night,” but I don’t respond. None of this is his fault, but sometimes I resent him.
I climb into bed and stare out the window, watching the crescent moon overhead, dark clouds drifting by lazily.
White, hot pain bursts in my chest.
I reach for the dagger that’s surely embedded in my ribs, but there’s nothing there. Just the pounding of my heart.
What the fuck?
I summon my flames, but my magic feels slow and groggy. The room is empty, and my chest is clean. Bloodless.
A flash of white hair, soaked, and tinged with blood.
My heart twists in my chest again. I double over, and clench down on a scream.
Another flash of an image. A mouth wide open, teeth bared, a silent scream.
The Princess.
I stumble to the door and out into the hallway. Marik’s door opens after the third thump, and I all but fall inside.
“What the hell?”
“Get to—” Tears streaming, fists balled, a head slamming into stone. “Castle,” I manage to say through gritted teeth.
“What?”
“Now. Mae. Something. Wrong,” I gasp.
Marik stares at me with the most fucking annoying look of confusion on his face. “Wh—How do you know?”
I shove him out of the bedroom. “GO!”
“At least let me get a shirt,” he says, slinking past me in the doorframe and plucking a black shirt from the floor.
Another flash—crimson and anguish. It feels like my heart is about to twist itself into two.
“Please, Marik. Hurry,” I say, trying not to panic at the way my voice sounds, at the amount of panic that I feel. Not for myself, but for her.
Because something is terribly, terribly wrong.
Aknock on my door, then the click of it opening. The pain in my chest subsided nearly an hour ago. I counted every second in an effort to not think about what this means.
“She’s fine,” Marik’s voice says, voice barely above a whisper.
I nod, but I don’t look at him. I keep my gaze locked on the ceiling.
“How did you know?” he asks.
I turn away from him.
I go back to counting, trying not to think about why I care how much blood was in her hair.