by TJ Klune
And I wanted to talk about it even less than I wanted him to see them.
Unfortunately for me, it was too late for that already.
“He did this?” Morgan asked me.
I could do this. I could play this off. “Pretty gnarly, right? I don’t know if they’re going to stick around or if I’ll—”
“Sam.”
Okay. Maybe I couldn’t play this off. I sighed and pulled the shirt on. The fabric brushed against the raised scars, irritating them slightly, but nothing I couldn’t deal with. “He didn’t do anything. I did. I don’t know if it started with the sand mermaids—which, by the way, thanks for not ever telling me those things existed—or if it was just because of… the lake… thing, but it happened, okay? There’s nothing I can do to change it. There’s nothing that you can do to change it. Unless there’s something else you neglected to tell me.”
“I deserve that,” he said evenly.
“Damn right you do,” I said, turning and dropping the towel. I pulled on the sleep pants as quickly as possible. I pulled on the strings to tie them off. “And furthermore—”
“But what I do not deserve is your derision.”
My hands stilled. My shoulders tensed.
“I do not deserve to be treated like I am the enemy,” he continued flatly. “I do not deserve to have you act this way toward me. I’ve made a mistake. I have apologized for this mistake. I have given you the reasons as to why I made said mistake. And yet you stand here, treating me as if I am nothing to you. You don’t get to do that, Sam. Not to me. Not after everything we’ve been through. You are allowed to be angry with me. You are not allowed to dismiss me.”
He was right, of course. More than I cared to admit. I’d let this… this thing come between us, let my anger fill my heart and cover my eyes until I saw nothing but red. It wasn’t okay, what he did. What Randall did. Nothing about it was okay. They had kept this from me, this secret that essentially dictated my entire life. They allowed my parents to suffer in the slums. Yes, he came eventually, but only when I’d displayed a propensity for magic. If he believed the destiny laid out by the star dragon through Vadoma, shouldn’t he have done everything he could have to make sure my family and I were safe? People died in the slums every day, either from disease or starvation or having their lives ripped from them by someone else. That happened everywhere, sure, but it was more prone to happen in the slums.
We had been happy, my parents and I. But it could have been more.
And that’s where the betrayal came from. Not that he didn’t tell me.
It came from the nights when my father went hungry because he would rather see his wife and son with their bellies full than his own.
It came from the days when I’d heard my mother crying and I couldn’t find a way to make her happy.
It came from the rainy mornings when the roof of our shack leaked and we’d be huddled under blankets together, trying to stay warm.
I’d learned that every society has their rich. Their middle class. Their poor. It was how things worked.
But Morgan and, in turn, Randall had allowed us to stay where we were.
That is why I was angry with him. Not just for me, but for my parents.
He loved me. I didn’t doubt that. Maybe, at the beginning, his actions had been motivated by what he’d been told, by what he’d seen I could do when I turned those boys to stone and back, but it’d grown organically, just like it should have.
He loved me.
“You may have made me angry, and I may not trust you as I once did, but I love you, Morgan. I pretty much always will. You’re my Brother Uncle Dad, remember?”
“You capitalized that, didn’t you.”
“Sure did. You couldn’t even take it back now if you wanted to.”
“Gods only know that I wouldn’t want that,” he said, dry as dust, and I felt this little pang in my chest, this little crack that I thought maybe came from the fact that my mentor was standing right in front of me for the first time in weeks and I wasn’t taking advantage.
Then he said, “Oh no, you have your hugging face on,” and I said, “You’re damn fucking right I do, you best be ready,” and he sighed, like he was put out by it, but there was a small smile on his face, as if he’d filled suddenly with relief and a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. I stomped over to him, and even though the lightning wounds pulled sharply, I gave it all I had.
I thought of the bird that day so long ago in the Dark Woods, how I had wished it wasn’t so and then suddenly it wasn’t, wings flapping as it flew away, the earth black and dead beneath my feet.
Life is like this: it aches. It’s biting, and you ache from it. You are strong, because they tell you that you are. You are stronger than anything they’ve ever seen. You have to be. It is what is expected of you.
But it can ache, and it pulls on you like nothing ever has. You breathe through it because that’s the only thing you can do. You push against it, and maybe you stumble. Maybe you trip and fall. Maybe you skin your hands and knees, your hair hanging around your face as you struggle for breath, blood oozing from your wounds.
Or maybe it’s worse. Maybe you break your bones and bite clear through your lip. Maybe you can’t find the strength to pick yourself up again. It’s easier, you think, to just stay where you are. Because if you get up, if you push yourself on, there’s a chance the same thing will happen and you’ll be right here where you are, curled up and in agony. And maybe you’ll eventually get to the point where you won’t get up at all.
But then there is a hand extended to you, and it’s kind and warm, and the arm attached to the hand is strong. And maybe, if you trust it enough, it can pull you up. And if you’re lucky, the arm will go around your waist, and even though you ache, even though it’s biting and you ache from it, you’ll be held up and you can breathe again for the first time. It expands inside your chest, and the crystal clarity of it all aches too, but it’s a good ache. Because sometimes hurt can be good too.
Life is like this: It’s biting, and you ache from it. But you are strong.
That’s what Morgan taught me.
I felt my magic curl with his, and I thought home. Maybe we wouldn’t be exactly like we were. A lot had happened, and I was still so angry with him. But one day, maybe things could be good again.
EVENTUALLY MORGAN shoved me away (“Come on! We’ve only been hugging for six minutes. We should just go for the record since we’re already here!”), telling me that we’d tarried long enough and that people were waiting for us. Since I was floating on a high of being next to my mentor again, I had no problem with agreeing to everything he said.
Any smile I might have had faded slightly when I opened the door and found Ryan standing outside, apparently trapped in a stare-off with Moishe.
“So awkward,” I breathed.
Ryan’s glare softened when he saw me, and it took all I had not to jump him right then and there, given that his hair was still a little wet and he wore a leather vest with no shirt on underneath, displaying miles and miles of chest hair and muscles. The trousers he wore hung obscenely low, and he was barefoot, toes digging into the plush carpet.
And since I loved him so, I said, “You’re dressed like you work here, and I would pay so much gold for you, you don’t even know.”
“I kind of got that idea when your tongue started hanging out of your mouth,” he said dryly, all while trying to act like he wasn’t flexing. “Apparently Mama picked out clothing for me herself.”
“I don’t know whether to thank her or set her wigs on fire.”
“How disappointing to learn that even Mama’s tastes aren’t infallible,” Moishe said.
Ryan resumed glaring at him.
“Have you guys been standing here like this the whole time?” I asked as Morgan closed the door behind me.
“I was just waiting for you when I came out of the room,” Ryan said. “I told him he could leave.”
“And as I explain
ed to the Knight Commander,” Moishe said, “I am to escort you to Mama’s office per her request. I do whatever she asks me to.”
“I know where her office is,” I reminded him, but knew things were done differently here.
“You may lead the way, Moishe,” Morgan said. “And thank you.”
We followed him down the ornate hallway, the sounds of sex coming from either side of us. I took Ryan’s hand in my own, squeezing his fingers gently as we followed behind Moishe and Morgan. I knew that places like this always made Ryan uncomfortable. Not because he was a prude—no, it was exactly the opposite. Ryan had sold his mouth and body on the streets to make enough money to get himself out of the slums. It wasn’t something we talked about often, given that Ryan had clearly expressed that the less said about it, the better. It didn’t help the guilt I felt at it, though, given that I was a big reason he’d tried to get himself out of the hellhole that had been our childhood home. He’d told me it wasn’t my fault, that he’d made his own choices.
“I’m okay,” he muttered, voice low so that Moishe and Morgan wouldn’t hear him.
“I know,” I said, just as quiet. “Maybe I’m not and need you to hold my hand to feel better.”
He quirked his lips, seeing right through me. “You’re kind of an idiot, you know that, right?”
“It’s part of my charm.”
“I suppose it is. Inexplicably.”
“I’m good at being inexplicable.”
“So I’ve noticed.”
“I’m taking that as a compliment.”
“Of course you would.” His hand tightened on mine. “We’re safe here?”
“I think so.” I didn’t know that one could ever really be safe in Meridian City, but I got what he was asking. Myrin had told me he was going after Meridian City. We’d gotten here, and nothing had happened, which left three possibilities: he’d been bluffing, we’d beaten the Darks to the city, or this entire thing was a trap.
I didn’t know which was worse.
If he’d been bluffing, why? Just to rile me up? Or to get my attention elsewhere while he went after some other corner of Verania?
If we’d beaten the Darks here, we still had a battle ahead of us.
If this was a trap, well, I was going to be pissed.
I fucking hated traps.
Only because I seemed to get stuck in them more than I’d like to admit.
But it’d be smart, wouldn’t it?
Getting all of us in one room: me, Morgan, and Randall.
One fell swoop, all at once.
I’d seen Meridian City burning when Vadoma had blown her powder in my face, her runes adorning my body. It didn’t mean it had to be today. It didn’t mean it had to happen at all. I could have been seeing what she wanted me to see. With Lockes, with Meridian City, with… Ryan. The star dragon had told me it would burn like nothing had ever burned before, this sacrifice.
The pieces didn’t fit together.
It was annoying as fuck.
“Just keep your eye out,” I muttered to Ryan.
“Should have brought my sword.”
“Nah. Your chest is distracting enough.”
He squeezed my hand.
Moishe led us to the end of the hall to a large wooden door carved with leaves and trees made to look like dicks. MAMA was burned into the wood. It was ridiculous and yet somehow still ominous, just like the drag queen who waited inside.
Moishe glanced over his shoulder, looking past Morgan, gazing at me briefly before he turned back around, knocked on the door twice, and entered without waiting for a response.
Mama’s office hadn’t changed much since I’d been here last, when we’d been tracking down a lead on Gary’s horn that proved to be false. Mama’s tastes were… well, not refined, per se—the nude paintings of her favorite courtesans in risqué positions adorning the walls didn’t really allow for it—but it was so distinctly Mama in that it was classy and pornographic all at the same time. The chandelier that hung from the ceiling was made from the finest crystal, cut by a master craftsman. The floor-to-ceiling bookcase was filled with everything from philosophy and biology texts to spit-roasting and triple-penetration smut that Mama would read while sipping rosé wine out of a chalice shaped like a veiny black cock.
She was a study in contradictions, and I cherished the ground she walked on.
Randall was the first person I saw, standing near a window, his distaste evident on his face. While vocally known to be sexually adventurous in his youth (much to my horror), I didn’t think he appreciated the finer aspects of being in a whorehouse in Meridian City. Knowing him, he had probably been complaining the floors were sticky.
The next two people caused me to stutter in my steps, only because I wasn’t used to seeing them face-to-face, especially given how ruthless they were.
Feng, the arms dealer and gang leader, stood near the bookcase with his arms across his chest, watching me with shrewd eyes. His skin was dark, his black hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. He had a thin mustache on his upper lip, neat and trimmed, and a patch of hair that curled at the ends on his chin. He smiled at me as I kept my face carefully blank, his gaudy gold tooth flashing in the candlelight. He was a barrel-chested man, shorter than me, but much wider and bulkier. He skirted the line between muscle and fat, as if it would tip one way or other with the slightest of pushes. He had a scar across his throat, thin and white.
A woman leaned against a wall near the doorway, left foot propped up against the wall behind her, cigar smoke curling around her face as she chewed on the wet stogie. She wore an eye patch on her right eye, the straps wrapped around the back of her face. The eye patch itself was glittering in the light, having been encrusted in precious stones in green and yellow and blue and white. It was ostentatious, and overtly so, but this was Letnia; it was how she was. She was older than Feng by a good twenty years, probably into her early seventies, but she was beautiful, her porcelain skin practically glowing in the sunlight pouring in from the windows. Her long white hair fell upon her shoulders, luxurious and thick. Had it not been for the cigar and the eye patch, she probably could have been someone’s kindly grandmother.
Mama sat behind her desk in her high-backed carved wooden chair, looking regal as always. She wore a long black wig, the hair straightened severely around her face, resting against her shoulders. Her makeup was dark and smoky, her lipstick black, a startling contrast with the hint of white teeth underneath. Her eyelashes were long and kissed her cheeks as she blinked slowly and deliberately. She wore a low-cut red-and-black corset cinched tightly up the front, the ties dangling on her breasts, which I was beginning to think more and more were real. Over the corset was a red leather coat, the collar of which was high around her neck. Her black-lacquered nails shone as she clicked them against the surface of the desk in an erratic beat. She was laughing quietly, a rusty sound that made me smile more than I cared to admit. I knew who she was. I knew what she was capable of. And I adored every single inch of her. Maybe one day we’d turn against each other if our ideals became too conflicted, but I’d worry about it then. For now she was my friend, and I worshipped the ground she walked on.
And so here they were, three of the most terrifying people in Meridian City (and quite possibly Verania), gathered for a supposed threat against the people by a dark man in shadows connected to Randall and Morgan and, by proxy, to myself. And yet, I immediately fixated on the other person in the room, the one who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. That expression didn’t change when he saw me. If anything, it probably got a little worse.
Once upon a time, this man and I been enemies, only because he was an asshole and had everything that I wanted. But given the divine laws of fairy tales, the knight had realized the errors of his ways and had confessed his love for the kickass wizard, leaving the evil prince behind.
Except the Prince wasn’t evil.
Mostly.
And even if there was still a little evil left in h
im, we’d gotten past that! We’d had adventures together! One night he’d even let me braid his hair, his beautiful curly hair, while we gossiped about boys! (Granted, he’d been asleep when I started doing this, but he’d woken up rather quickly and threatened me with pooping in a bucket for the rest of my life while I kept trying to talk about how many different types of laughs Ryan had. Semantics, really.)
And here he stood now, next to a pimp and whorehouse-owning drag queen named Mama, his curls falling wonderfully around his face, looking regal as all fuck, a disgruntled and frankly rather horrified look on his face as he listened to whatever Mama was telling him (or, more likely, whatever Mama was propositioning him with). I hadn’t expected him to be here.
And he must have felt my happiness at seeing him here, because that façade, that mask he hid behind to allow people to think he didn’t care at all, deepened so it looked like he might actually despise me.
But I knew better.
“Whatever you’re thinking of doing, you better stop right now,” Grand Prince Justin of Verania warned me. “I mean it, Sam. I know that face. That’s your feelings face. And I hate it.”
“You know me so well,” I whispered reverently. “Because we’re best friends 5eva.”
“No,” he snapped, looking around wildly like he wasn’t trapped in the office without anywhere to run, just how I liked him. “You stay away from me. I mean it!”
“You came here because you missed me and wanted to make sure I was safe and also wanted to be a part of this adventure,” I said, taking a step toward him.
“I think I liked it better when you two weren’t friends,” Ryan said.
“We aren’t friends now! And I didn’t miss him. I didn’t even want to come here!”
“We have to hug now,” I demanded, ready to rush around the desk.
“Godsdammit, Sam! I will see you beheaded if you even think about touching me—oof!”
