War of the Wilted

by Amber Mitchell

  Picking up my robes, I continue down the endless set of steps, barely wide enough to accommodate for my wide, five-foot-long train dragging behind me in a diamond shape. A cold draft blasts through the drafty stone staircase leading ever downward toward the palace dungeons. Every step sends my heart pounding harder until it’s so loud it’s the only thing I can hear.

  When the stairs come to an abrupt end, I pick my way carefully through the dingy hallway by torchlight, the end of my robe rustling over dirty hay. Male voices arguing echo down the long corridor.

  After another minute, I stop in a round room barely large enough to hold more than ten people comfortably. Still, it’s several times larger than my old cage. Thick iron doors, about ten feet apart, line the circular wall, small windows carved into the tops. Behind one is the shogun of the Zareeni rebellion.

  Four Sun soldiers look up from a rickety wooden table in the middle of the room. A young man with a very long, thin mustache sets down his hand of cards, annoyance written all over his face. His eyes roam around my body, taking in the dangling chopsticks and jeweled pins glittering throughout my hair. For the first time in five days, I’m thankful for the miles of robe I’m dressed in daily, hiding my figure and the little blue vial of Borenite stashed between the folds of fabric.

  “What are you doing here, girl?”

  The torchlight sends flickering shadows on the wall, my own shadow rising up to devour his.

  I straighten my shoulders and glare down at the soldier as if he’s already mine to command, although, under the emperor, I’ll be lucky if I’m allowed out of my chambers after he has conquered Varsha.

  “I’ve come to see the emperor’s nephew.”

  The other three soldiers snicker, one of the older men shaking his head, and they go back to playing their card game.

  The younger soldier picks something from his teeth, considering my command. “And why should we let you?”

  Because I could rip your sword from your side and slice your throat with it.

  My threat would likely garner more laughter rather than results. They don’t fear me, wrapped pretty and tight like a present. But they should. I take a deep breath and draw on those acting skills the Gardener said I didn’t have, flashing the seal I stole at the sneering soldiers.

  “Perhaps we should go speak with the emperor together and ask him why you refuse to follow his orders?”

  Uncertainty flashes behind the man’s eyes as he reaches for his helmet. Rolling my shoulders back, I meet his gaze with fire behind mine. Daring him to keep me from Rayce.

  He stands up, the screech of his chair against the stone filling my ears.

  “You have ten minutes.” He reaches for his loop of keys on his hip and motions for me to follow behind him.

  Wiping my slick palms on the inside of my sleeves, I hurry to keep up with the soldier, relief sounding through every rushed step. Ten minutes is more than enough time.

  I reach for the piece of parchment around my neck to give me strength and remember that it was confiscated when I was hauled into the palace and stripped, scrubbed, shined, and polished until I was a perfect doll.

  The soldier stops in front of a small iron door in the middle of the wall, holding up his identical keys and going over each one near his face to find the correct combination.

  After a few failed attempts, the lock clicks open, granting me permission to let go of my nervous breath. The soldier pries the heavy iron door open like he has to convince it to move every inch. It squeals in protest.

  He tips his head for me to go in. I gather up the ends of my robes, though it does little to help my mobility.

  When we are side by side, the soldier’s whisper brushes over me like cold water, breaking through every layer of fabric.

  “You might think you’re fooling people in that Imperial garb, but I was there the night you danced for us.” He reaches out a hand and brushes the back of my neck, the only part not covered in silk. “We all know what you really are. I’d be happy to let you work out a way to add a little extra time.”

  I grit my teeth, his implication making me sick. The only thing I want more than to reach for his sword and slit his throat is to see Rayce.

  “You will take your hand off me.” I force my tone to stay even. “Or I’m sure the emperor will be very interested to hear your offer.”

  The solider steps back, holding up his hands, a mocking smile on his face.

  The scent of damp, rotting straw hits my nose the moment I cross the threshold, mingling with the overwhelming scent of blood. Even with the minimal torchlight behind me, it’s hard to see much of anything ahead, but Rayce’s outline slumped over on the far wall peeks through in the hungry darkness. This entire cell is only about ten steps long, barely enough room for me to lie fully on the ground.

  I step out of the streak of light from the door and it splashes across Rayce leaning in the corner. His chin rests against his chest, his usually sleek black hair falling in a greasy wave to cover his face from sight. His once-pristine black Zareeni uniform is in tatters and stiff with so many bloodstains it’s almost turned brown. He doesn’t stir with the light.

  But my heart does. I can’t be too late. Forgetting the need to be measured, I rush toward him the best that my gigantic robe will allow and fall to my knees, lifting up his face with both of my hands. The clean silk of my robe covers his shredded uniform, contrasting the state we’ve both been in.

  “Rayce?” I whisper his name over and over again like it’s a prayer.

  His stubble has grown into a short beard, coating his chin and crawling down his neck. His eyelids are pressed closed over those eyes that can light my soul with a single glance, his intoxicating mouth motionless.

  I smooth his hair back and rub my thumb over his dirty cheek.

  “Please, Rayce, wake up,” I whisper. “I don’t have long and I need to know that you’re going to be okay. I need to hear your voice. I need you.”

  His brow twitches, before his eyes open slowly, like they’re stuck together. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust, maybe to the darkness or perhaps from blurriness, but I’m so relieved to see them open that I don’t even care.

  “You’re awake…” My voice cracks.

  He sounds like he’s swallowed a whole bucket of sand. “Rose, is that you?”

  “Ten minutes,” the soldier repeats, cutting into our reunion.

  The patch of light disappears as he slams the door closed, locking us in here together in the dark. For the first time in my life, I wish the door shutting behind me wouldn’t open so that I could stay with him forever.

  Cast in this eternal night, all I have is sound and touch. There isn’t even a small ring of light from a hole in the wall to give us hope. Because there isn’t any. Not anymore.

  Rayce reaches out a shaky hand and rests it on my arm. I lean into him, trying to get closer, but he hisses in pain.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m just so happy you’re alive. I’ve been so worried. I missed you.”

  With great effort, he slides his rough hand up my shoulder, resting it on the back of my neck at the base of my hair. It’s not hard to feel how weak he is or hear the raspy sound of his breathing.

  “I missed you, too.” His voice is a whisper. “Did you tell my uncle what he asked of you?”

  I grit my teeth, looking down from where I think his face might be, resting my forehead in the crook between his neck and shoulder. The darkness ensures that he can’t see the tears streaming down my cheeks.

  “Yes, I didn’t have a choice. I’m sorry, I—”

  “There’s nothing for you to be sorry for.” The way he speaks sounds final. Though he keeps his voice light, every word sounds like a goodbye. “You didn’t do anything wrong. If anything, I should be apologizing.”

  “No, I was wrong. At least, partially.” I grip onto his long sleeve as he wraps his other arm around my waist, pressing me to him. His tunic feels stiff against my silk robe. He’s all jagged
edges against the delicate fabric surrounding me. All of my fears well up, all of the times I stubbornly refused to talk with him these past few weeks spill out of me like teardrops. “You were right before, when you asked me if I didn’t want the rebellion to win. I didn’t. I was…scared. Scared of things changing, of not being good enough to lead the rebellion beside you.”

  “I was wrong, too,” he says. “I should have listened to you. I should’ve trusted you. Maybe if I had, then none of this would have happened. None of this would be real.” His shaking fingertips brush across my jawline. “But that doesn’t matter right now. We can’t live in the past. The fact is you’re the only person the rebellion has left to lead now, and for what it’s worth…” He takes a deep, struggled breath. “I never doubted the fact that you would be a wonderful leader, Arianna. You’ve always been too hard on yourself, always struggled and because of that, you understand what it takes to lead. You don’t need me to be great, but I would have been honored to stand beside you anyway.”

  Hearing him speak my true name crushes the air from my lungs. I lean into him. Even through the sweat and blood, the faintest hint of honey still clings to his skin, destroying me. I let out a choked gasp. When I’d first escaped the Garden, it seemed like Rayce could do anything, like he could change the world. Now, because of the Gardener, he can barely move.

  “You will. You and I are going to stand next to each other when the dust settles, because I’m going to find a way to fix this.” My words and tears soak into the dirty fabric of his uniform. “This isn’t the end. I’m going to come for you, just like you have always found me. I refuse to let everything you’ve done just disappear. I know we left everything a mess. I understand that you can’t trust me, but I’m begging you to believe in me now. I’m going to save your life like you saved mine.”

  Though I can’t see him, I feel his lips brush my hair as he kisses the top of my head.

  “I’m not sure there is much you can do, Rose,” he says. “Although, if anyone can think of something, I know it’s you.” His hand tightens around the small of my back and he tilts my chin up toward him. “But don’t worry about me. Whatever happens, I want you to remain safe. Just, do what my uncle asks of you.”

  His fingers move over my lips and he draws me forward, connecting our mouths in a kiss that explodes behind my eyelids like fireworks. My chest squeezes and everything feels frozen in this moment, in the way his lips dance with mine. Tenderness. Need. Passion. All of these things swirl around me as my lips pulse with him and I scramble to be nearer to him, to figure out a way to be one so that no one can separate us.

  But even as I’m locked in his embrace, his labored breath blows at odd intervals on my cheek and his grasp weakens against the back of my neck, reminding me of how short our time might actually be.

  Our lips part all too soon and he rests his forehead against mine, gasping for air.

  “I love you,” I whisper against his skin. “Even when everything is dark.”

  “I shouldn’t have wasted all that time being mad.” He’s quiet for a long moment, letting our time together dwindle to nearly nothing. “From the moment I met you, you’ve been my light. Even after Oren passed on, all I wanted to do was stop, but I knew I couldn’t, that I had to build a better world for you. Even when there was darkness, you were the Zarenite. No matter what happens, always remember that I love you. My strong flower. My Arianna.”

  My heart bursts at the unfairness of it all. How can timing be so cruel? He can only forgive me now when it doesn’t matter? A hiss escapes my lips as I try to keep myself from breaking into a thousand pieces. Because he will not be here to pick them up.

  “Don’t,” I whisper through clenched teeth. “Stop acting like this is the last time we’ll be together. I’m going to save you. You’ll see.”

  Pressing my ear to his chest, I listen for his heartbeat, but it’s covered by a rolling moan that escapes his lips. Letting go of his arm tears me to pieces, but not as thoroughly as grazing the deep hole in his gut I saw a few days ago. His pain reminds me why I’m here.

  I fumble around inside my robe until I find the tiny vial of Borenite I managed to keep hidden. The only person desert rose has ever worked on was me, but I have to believe it will help Rayce, too. Right now it is the only thing I have left.

  It glows faintly blue in the darkness, enough to light up the tip of his nose.

  “Is that Borenite?” he asks.

  “Yes. I want to use it on your wounds. I know Piper hasn’t been able to discover anything about it, but it might be your only shot.”

  Groping around in the dark, I find the pail of water in the corner of the room and drag it back over to Rayce, the sound louder than thunder in the quiet cell.

  Yanking the cork off with my teeth, I sprinkle the contents of the finely dusted powder onto my palm and dip my free hand in the bucket of cold water before rubbing my hands together to make a paste.

  Using the soft glow of the paste, I find the vicious gash in Rayce’s side and widen the hole in his uniform. I peel back the white bandage hastily wrapped around him and hover my hand over his wound. A sad smile finds its way onto my lips and my gaze turns to his. He stares back at me, his eyes black in the near darkness, but he remains calm, unflinching.

  This is either going to heal him or finish him off. No, it has to save him. If it worked on me, it will work on him.

  Oren’s advice echoes in my mind. A good leader must face their fears. Losing Rayce is the most terrifying thought I can think of. I might not be a better leader after any of this, but if I can spare his life, I’ll be a better woman.

  He nods, and before he can change his mind, I press my hand against his skin. He jerks forward involuntarily, trying to squirm away from the pain I’m inflicting on him. The hiss between his clenched jaw turns into a full-blown scream as he shakes under my hand.

  “Rayce, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Touching either side of his face, I try to let him know I’m there for him, but my voice is lost over the tormented sound of his screaming.

  The only thing that cuts through it is the shriek of the iron door swinging open.

  “What are you doing to the prisoner?” the same soldier from before yells.

  Footsteps bounce around the tiny room as I readjust his white bandage, covering up the paste I made for him, and pray that all of this pain will be worth it. Please, just make him better. I can reconcile this new life if I know that he’s safe.

  My heart hammers against my rib cage, knowing we only have seconds left together. “I love you, Rayce, and I swear to you, I’ll get you out.”

  Rayce’s hand grips around my arm just as the soldier rips me from the ground like an uprooted weed. I jerk my shoulders around against the soldier’s foreign grasp, my wild eyes connect with Rayce’s. Sweat drips down his forehead, his teeth pressed in a grimace, his chest shaking with each breath he takes. Everything in me rebels against the silent goodbye his eyes hold.

  Because for the first time, he has become withered. He let his hope for a future worth living die.

  Though I kick my feet and swing around wildly, the thick folds of fabric restrain my movement. The soldier drags me through the door, but I reach out both hands, gripping onto the doorframe to keep from disappearing.

  “Fight!” My arms shake with the effort of holding myself in place. Another soldier slams into my arm, prying it loose. “Don’t you dare give up! This isn’t goodbye, do you hear me? This isn’t—”

  The door slamming blocks out the end of my sentence. The soldier drops me after I stop struggling, staring at the dark iron door holding me from the world I wanted to live in. Brown bloodstains mar the front of my robe, the stench of dirty hay clinging to me.

  But so does his heat, warming my entire body like the brightest of stars.

  And so does the overwhelming and single-minded need to save him. Sometimes, there will be people to pick up the shattered bits of your entire world and help you piece them back together. B
ut this time it falls on me alone. And I refuse to fail.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Sun soldiers march through the large palace gates in waves of five, bringing with them all manner of things they’ve plundered from the rebellion’s base like life-sized versions of the emperor’s ant tanks. They’re even behind the thick glass of my chamber’s window where I sit on plush silk cushions the color of the sky.

  Marin perches behind me, running an ivory comb through my thick tresses. Because of her family’s station, she’s used to the extravagant hairstyles of the Delmarion upper class and has been permitted to help me prepare for tonight.

  Silence presses upon us, but every time I turn to glance over my shoulder, the same sadness I feel reflects in her eyes before she looks away.

  My lungs feel on the verge of collapsing. “Please say something. Are you upset?”

  The brush in my hair slows to a stop and she clears her throat. “Why would you say that?”

  “Because you won’t meet my gaze.”

  Grabbing a handful of the rich white under robe cloaking my body, I turn back to the long white-and-gold outfit that’s been selected for tonight’s celebration. Every other robe forced on me has been red just like in the Garden, to showcase my heritage, but tonight, I’m meant to look pure. Golden suns and vines wrap around the long sleeves that drag to the ground and the thick belt meant to cinch my waist despite the layers of fabric.

  I’ve heard that in Delmarion culture white represents innocence…or sorrow. It seems like an appropriate choice for this evening.

  “That’s not exactly…” She stops, hesitating, and after a moment, the comb begins again. “I’m not really, at least, I’m trying not to be.”

  I don’t take my gaze off the dress. It isn’t unfamiliar to have clothing that feels like a prison. I just thought I’d finally escaped it.

  “I told you, if I hadn’t surrendered, the emperor would have killed Rayce. I did it to save him, and hopefully, everyone else in the rebellion, too.”