Dividing Eden

by Joelle Charbonneau

  Andreus stiffened.

  “You can’t expect the Prince and Princess of Eden to climb down this wall,” the foreign lord shouted as he stepped closer to Carys. “They could die.”

  The wall was over forty feet tall. Snow was falling from the sky. Darkness would soon be upon them, and the curse could show itself when he was too high up for anything to help him. And then, yes. He could lose his grip and die on the stone below. But so could Carys.

  “Each day a monarch rules on a throne is filled with risk,” Elder Cestrum said with a smile. “My nephew assures me he could make the climb down without falling. Of course, if the Prince or the Princess want to refuse, they can nullify the Trials . . .”

  And Garret would end up on the throne.

  Andreus stepped to his platform, turned toward his sister, and said, “I am happy to prove that I am my father’s son. I will do what it takes to win and keep my throne.”

  “You can’t,” the foreign lord shouted to Carys above the pounding of the windmills.

  Carys stared at Andreus for several long seconds and said, “I have no choice.”

  “Very well.” Elder Cestrum looked to the Masters standing next to the blue platform. “Are we ready?”

  The Masters nodded.

  “Good. Then Prince Andreus and Princess Carys, I ask you to take your places. Prince Andreus will speak when the first gong sounds. Once he is done, Princess Carys will begin. Two gongs will signal the start of the physical part of the trial. All of us on the Council will be watching from the bottom. I wish you the best of luck.”

  With that Elder Cestrum headed for the stairs. Lord Garret stopped, leaned down and whispered something in Carys’s ear, then lumbered behind.

  Andreus stepped closer to the battlements and could hear the noise of the crowd that had been masked by the churning of the windmills. The square below the steps was filled with people, as were the streets and the rooftops. A cheer went up as they spotted his face, which helped quell the nerves he felt as he ascended the four steps that led to the top of the yellow platform.

  His stomach lurched as another cheer went up and he looked at the rope ladder that was affixed to an iron rod in the middle of the platform and then disappeared over the battlements. Which is exactly what he would have to use. He was used to looking down from the height of the wall, but climbing down it . . . The Council was right about one thing—it was going to take a lot of strength to overcome the fear of stepping over that edge and even more determination to make it to the ground with the temperature dropping and the snow falling around them.

  He turned to his sister, who was struggling to unfasten her cloak. The foreign Lord Errik stepped forward to help her, but she shook her head. The cloak finally fell away and Andreus stared at her with surprise.

  His sister was wearing pants. Black and fitted and something their father would have had her flogged for if she had made an appearance in them while he was alive. She was wearing a white-sleeved tunic that hung just below the black belt at her hips, from which both silver stilettos hung. But it was the fitted vest—half deep blue, half yellow—that was the biggest surprise. Not just her color. But both of their colors. The colors of all of Eden.

  Shaking off any assistance from her foreign friend, his sister walked stiffly to the platform, took a deep breath, and one step at a time made it to the top.

  Despite the cold she was sweating. And when she looked at him and held his gaze, he could see the pain swimming in her eyes as she yelled his name.

  “You will pay for what you have done,” he said as the Master hurried around the platform, checking the system that would carry his and his sister’s voices, amplifying the sound for all to hear.

  “Imogen had Micah and Father killed,” his sister shouted. “I left a note asking you to meet me so I could tell you what I’d learned, only she came instead.”

  “You can say anything. She is not here to defend herself anymore. Because of you.”

  A gong sounded, cutting off whatever else his sister might have tried to say to sway him. Adderton was to blame for Micah and Father’s deaths. If Carys thought her tall tales were going to harden his heart toward Imogen, she was wrong.

  Refusing to look at his sister, Andreus stepped closer to the edge of the battlements so he could look down at the people below.

  Taking a deep breath, Andreus angled himself so his words would travel into the iron cone the Masters had suspended above the platform. Then, hearing Imogen’s words about what a King should be echoing in his memory, he said, “For years I have worked beside the Masters of Light on these walls. I chose to study the windmills and the power they bring because I wanted to help keep Garden City safe. And that is what I want to do as King: keep Eden safe. I will lead the Masters in new ways to ward off the Xhelozi. I will insist the guard seek out their dens in the summer and cut each one of them down until there is no longer anything to fear from the mountains. And with the aid of the seven High Lords and the virtues their districts represent, I will see that the war with Adderton is won. The orb of Eden will shine more brightly than before as a symbol to all kingdoms of what is possible when the seven virtues are heeded and the people walk in the light.”

  A cheer went up from below. Pride swelled inside him.

  The people were his. It was always so. And so it would be. He would sit on the Throne of Light by nightfall.

  19

  Carys waited for her brother to look at her. She needed another chance to explain—to warn him in case something happened to her—but he kept his eyes forward and she knew one thing was certain as she blinked back the tears. She’d lost him. Imogen’s poison thoughts had rooted themselves in Andreus’s brain. And her death had insured they flourished.

  Gods.

  The ache in her heart mirrored that of her body. Every muscle screamed from a need she couldn’t fill. She wiped her wet palms on the pants Larkin had created and delivered along with the ball gown last night. According to Errik, Larkin said she’d made the outfit as an expression of her faith in Carys. It was Larkin’s way of showing that she believed Carys was as good as any prince or king.

  Only the desperate need to warn her brother, Larkin’s and Errik’s faith in her ability, and the willow bark tea Juliette encouraged her to drink gave Carys the ability to climb out of her sweat-soaked bed where nightmares plagued her every time she closed her eyes. Her face bloody and unrecognizable. Her brother with his sword raised. A wind cyclone like the one from when she was twelve barreling down the mountains, destroying everything in its path. Ready to destroy her.

  Errik asked no questions about her illness and refused to leave his post in her solar even when she ordered him away. He said nothing to her about her brother, even though she heard Andreus’s voice yelling from the next room.

  Imogen.

  She had taken the secret of her coconspirator’s identity to the grave and in death had turned the person who Carys depended on against her.

  The wind swirled around her. She flinched. She could swear she could hear it calling to her, which wasn’t possible. It was the illness from the withdrawal that made her think the wind was whispering—asking her to set it free.

  “Princess Carys,” one of the Masters near her platform said. “It is your turn to speak.”

  She stepped closer to the edge of the platform—to the threshold of the battlements—and her stomach rolled as she looked down. So, she pulled her gaze up and kept her eyes on her brother as she tried to decide what to say. She was supposed to speak to the people. And she would. But it was her brother’s stony face and the love that had caused her to shield him all these years that pulled the first words from her.

  “I have always tried to be strong. I’ve done my best to stand by you in my way—the only way I know. Am I perfect?” She laughed. “Gods no. There is no one in this kingdom who would believe me if I said I was. I have said the wrong things, unsettled people with my choices, and have often been seen as . . . unpleasant. The one thing
I have done right in my life is love you.”

  Tears swelled. Her legs trembled beneath her. The wind swirled.

  “I will never be perfect. I will make mistakes just as you have. If you give me a chance and believe in me I will learn from them. Our arrangement, this way we live, cannot be sustained. We strain too hard at our predetermined places, our prescribed roles. We want more. We deserve more. We should be freer to choose the path we desire.

  “That desire for freedom—to speak, to live, to feel as I choose—is perhaps what has made me who I am. Made us what we are. But no matter what we are, I dream of what we can become. When this trial is over, all I know for certain is that I am supposed to be at your side. It is my fate to stand in front of you, to shield you when the darkness comes. My life has been pledged to you since the day I was born, and no matter what you decide—I will be here for you. I will reach with you for that better way, for freedom—a freedom that we may share—until the day I die.”

  Her shoulders groaned as she straightened them. Then she braved a look down at the mass of people standing silently beneath her and realized her words—all the phrases she had just spoken to her brother—also belonged to them. They were the people who stood in front of the lords when a battle began. They were the ones who were flogged while those above them were set free. She understood them. She was them. Now she wanted them to understand her.

  “No matter how these trials end, my heart is yours. My life belongs to you. I am Princess Carys . . . daughter of Ulron . . . Keeper of Virtues and Guardian of Light. He might be gone, but the commitment of his blood runs true. I give you my oath.” She glanced at her brother. “Even if I am pushed away or pushed down, no matter how bloody or beaten I might be, I will rise and fight again. Because I will be fighting for you.”

  Her brother stared straight ahead. No one—nothing below the battlements—seemed to move. It was as if everything was frozen in time. Then Carys saw banners of blue in the center of the crowded main square lifting up toward her. Then more. Blue near the front of the square. Blue from people lining the streets snaking through the city.

  She blinked back the tears blurring her vision as the blue banners began to wave and what sounded like her name floated up on the wind. Louder. Then louder still, telling her that they had heard the truth of her words.

  Her stomach cramped. Every step she took made her muscles weep, but as much as she wanted to sink to the ground she would fight—for her brother’s soul, for her people.

  She braved a glance at her brother as the next set of gongs sounded. He didn’t bother to look her way as he moved to the edge of the platform, got down on his knees, and took hold of the top of the hemp ladder in his hands. He reached back with his foot, found a foothold, and shifted backward onto the top of the wall. With the next move his legs went over the battlements.

  A cheer went up from the people below. Then only his head was visible. Finally, Andreus spared a look at her. There was hatred there. Not just distrust. Not just betrayal. Hatred. As if she was the curse he had waited his whole life to kill.

  Then he was gone and Carys had to follow.

  Swallowing down a metallic taste in her mouth, she inched forward and carefully lowered herself to her knees. The braided hemp ladder was narrow and was shifting back and forth in the wind. Flurries of snow landed on the platform next to her as she shivered from cold and terror.

  She was scared. Never before in her life had she known this kind of naked fear. Her palms sweating, her body weak, and hundreds of feet between her and the ground. She was unlikely to survive this trial. But there was a chance she would. And that was how she convinced herself to wipe the moisture from her hands and grip the ladder as her brother had already done.

  Wind gusted snow into her face and pulled her hair. Her heart pounded hard and fast against her chest. This was just like playing on the ladders in the stables, she told herself, trying to forget that she fell off those ladders when she was seven and broke her arm falling from eight feet up.

  She tested her grip, then tested it again, before backing up to the edge of the battlements. Gritting her teeth, she slid her leg over the edge to search for a foothold.

  A cheer from below floated up as she found one, held her breath, and forced herself to lower her other foot over the edge. The narrow platform shook as a gust of icy wind tugged at the hemp rope. She clutched it tightly and leaned against the wall, knowing she had to move. The longer she was on the rope, the weaker her aching muscles would become. Fear screamed to go slow, but she knew that would kill her. So she used the fear and the sound of the blood pounding in her ears to drive her all the way over the edge.

  Her foot searched for the next rung and found air. She closed her eyes tight and squeezed her fingers so the hemp bit into flesh as she felt nothing beneath her. The rope had to be there.

  Yes. Sweat trickled down her neck as she found the rung and slid her foot onto it.

  Don’t think, she told herself. Just go and don’t stop.

  Facing the white wall she had always hated, she clenched her teeth against the pain in her arms as she shifted her foot and lowered herself down the ladder. One rung. Two. Never looking down. Never letting more than a few seconds go by before feeling for the next rung, or the icy knot in her stomach would overwhelm her and she wouldn’t be able to move at all.

  One foot on the next rung. Move one hand. Next foot. Then the next hand, tightening her grip when she couldn’t find the next foothold for several seconds. The rungs weren’t evenly spaced. Some were over a foot apart. Others were just inches. Each time her foot found a rung she let out a sigh of relief before her insides once again clenched with fear.

  The snow fell harder. The wind blew, turning her fingers to ice and making it more and more difficult to grip the braided rope. Her arms trembled as she lowered herself down another rung. Her calves cramped and Carys bit her lip with the new wave of pain. Gods help her. Her body wasn’t going to be able to hold on much longer. She had to go faster.

  She found the next rung. Then the next as the crowd cheered.

  The cheers sounded louder than before. She had to be getting closer.

  Wrapping one arm around the rope to give her scraped, freezing fingers a rest, Carys braved a look downward. Still over half the distance to go. Glancing to her side, she could see Andreus fifteen feet below. His ladder dangled two arm lengths away from hers. He was reaching down toward his leg. Were his muscles cramping from the cold? Or was it something worse?

  If he had an attack up here . . .

  Carys wiped the dampness from one hand on the sleeve of her tunic, gripped the ladder as tight as she could, and resumed her descent, determined to catch up with her brother. He might hate her, but he would hate the idea of falling to his death more.

  She descended two more rungs. Then two more, flexing her fingers each time, trying to make sure she could still hold on. She ignored the spasms in her arms and the pain shooting up her back. She leaned her head against the coarse hemp and choked back a sob as a tremor shook her body, making the rope ladder swing.

  Keep going. She had to keep going.

  Carys lowered herself down another rung. Below her, Andreus didn’t appear to be moving.

  “Dreus!” she yelled, blinking against the snow. “Are you all right?”

  Her fingers closed around the next rung. She stepped down, then down again until she was even with her brother. “Andreus! What’s wrong?”

  Her brother looked up at her. “My boot. I can’t get it free.”

  Stuck—fifteen feet above the stone below. Her own fingers were barely hanging on. His would be stronger, but the cold would eventually make him lose his grip.

  From here, she couldn’t see his boot well enough to tell what the problem was so she clenched her jaw and forced herself to move several feet lower. Squinting into the swirling snow, she spotted the problem. A piece of hemp had come free from its braiding and had caught on the ties to his boot.

  “I’m go
ing to cut you free.”

  “What?” he yelled.

  She wrapped her right forearm around the ladder and drew the stiletto from her belt with her left. “Don’t move,” she yelled.

  Oh Gods. She swallowed hard and leaned to her left, pulling herself away from her own ladder so she could reach the one Andreus was on. Her left foot slipped and her stomach lurched and she hugged the ladder and found her footing again.

  She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and ordered herself to try again.

  Swallowing hard, she shifted her weight and leaned toward her brother again. The snow fell. The air was still as she held her breath and tried to reach the rope that was keeping her brother from continuing his climb. “Can you move?” she yelled.

  “What?” he yelled back.

  “Kick your foot away from the ladder so I can cut the rope that’s holding you.”

  He looked down at her for a long second, then gave a slow nod as she braved leaning a little farther. Her arms shook. Sweat streamed down her back as she shivered and told herself not to worry. She could do this. She’d get her brother free and make it the next twelve feet to the plateau’s surface.

  Andreus kicked his foot away from the rope and the ladder began to sway.

  “Again,” she yelled, judging the distance and the angle like she would a target she wanted to hit with her blade. Andreus followed her command. The movement sent the ladder an inch closer to her. Then another as it swayed on the wall.

  Carys could hear the gasps from the crowd. Her heart pounded as the coarse hemp dug through the fabric of her tunic and into her arm, which was beginning to weaken more. If she didn’t want to fall, she needed both hands to hold on.

  She judged the sway of the ladder as Andreus kicked his boot again and slashed with her blade knowing it was the only shot she had.