War of the Wilted

by Amber Mitchell

  Calla grits her teeth. “We should have killed him while we had the chance.”

  We turn a corner and I’m surprised to see the modest double doors I was searching for. Something sweet wafts in the air and I take a moment to sniff it in deeply. Little things, I remind myself.

  “I’ll see you all in a while,” I say.

  Calla and Lily wave their goodbyes and keep walking. I turn around and hug Marin. She stiffens in my grasp, her curly hair seeming somewhat flatter than usual. But after a second, she lets out a sigh and hugs me back, tucking her face into my shoulder.

  “I hope today is the day you decide to talk with him,” I whisper in her ear. “I know it’s hard, but he might have a good reason for what he did.”

  She remains quiet for another moment. “I know he might and I should try to hear him out, at least. It’s just…difficult to look at him, let alone speak with him.”

  We part, still gripping each other’s arms the way Fern and I would do sometimes. We would hold each other up by the elbows and spin and spin until we’d both fall over in our cart. Although Marin and I aren’t moving, we’re definitely spinning. Our world hasn’t slowed down since the moment we met.

  “Promise me you’ll try, okay?” I ask.

  She gives me a weak smile and her hair seems to grow a tiny bit bushier with it. “I promise to think about it, princess. Are you going to make some kind of royal decree if I don’t?”

  At least she’s joking again. It’s the best I can ask for.

  “Don’t tempt me with a good idea.”

  She rolls her eyes, laughing as we part ways, and she runs down the hall to meet up with the other Flowers, leaving me to stand in front of the double doors.

  Sounds drift out from behind them, something boiling in a pot, a clinking dish, and then silence. I take a deep breath, trying to relax my shoulders, and smooth down the front of my bright purple silk robe. A setting sun pattern has been stitched in golden, pink, and blue thread and the collar dips low in the back, nearly exposing my shoulder blades. It’s the first thing I’ve chosen for myself now that the rebellion has settled into the palace.

  Butterflies ripple in my stomach. The last time I was summoned to the kitchen, Arlo gave me the poison that set Rayce and me down the path that nearly destroyed us. But there’s no wedge to keep us apart right now. At least, not an emotional one.

  The door is cool against my palm as I push it open and walk in. It’s an odd thing, seeing the royal palace’s kitchen empty save for the emperor of Delmar leaning over an elaborately polished wooden table, rolling dough flat with a thick pin. Unlike our old base, everything here looks new and well kept, from the massive ovens tucked in the back of the room to the shiny metal utensils.

  But I’m captivated by the way the muscles in Rayce’s arms strain to push down the dough, and I stop in my tracks, admiring him. To my left is a fireplace several times larger than I am. A roaring fire flickers as it waits for its next meal to cook.

  This is the type of kitchen that could easily hold a hundred cooks and still not be full. Dozens of different stations are set up to make the elaborate meat, rice, vegetable, bread, and countless desserts consumed daily by the emperor and his many staff.

  Fully stocked and cleaned daily, it’s a cook’s dream, and yet, it misses all the charm and character of the place we used to work.

  The four layers of elaborate robes Rayce should be wearing are abandoned on a nearby table. He has rolled up his sleeves to his mid upper arm, his lean muscle appearing with each roll of the pin, and flour coats his hands.

  The door slams behind me and his head jerks up, his face losing its calmness for a moment. But when his eyes meet mine, the tension in his back evaporates and he lets out a little chuckle.

  “You made me nervous there for a moment. I thought my hiding place had been discovered.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

  Looking around at the completely empty kitchen, I let my gaze settle back on him. White bandages peek through his robe, a constant reminder of how brittle everything was just a week ago. Though we’ve been assured that with time there will be no lasting damage, he’ll bear the scars of our recent battles for the rest of his life.

  Seeing me looking around the room, he smiles.

  “I gave everyone a few hours off so I could get some baking done.” He dips his hands in the bowl of flour in front of him and begins to knead the honey crisp dough. “I tried to work alongside them but they kept insisting on doing everything. I finally had to make them leave to get some peace and quiet.”

  A smile plays on my lips. “It isn’t exactly a normal thing for an emperor to make his own food, I’d imagine.”

  “There’ll be a lot of things that aren’t normal around here,” he says. “And besides, I’m not technically emperor.”

  Most would try to exploit the fact that they were the next in line to rule, not use a technicality to point out why they shouldn’t be. Only Rayce.

  “You won’t be able to delay the ceremony forever, you know. There’s no one more qualified to lead than you.”

  He shrugs, a lopsided smile forming on his face. A piece of hair falls out of his short ponytail and into his face. He tilts his head back and holds out a finger, beckoning me closer.

  He might as well be asking me to jump over a twenty foot trench for the effort it takes to make my feet move again, but somehow, I manage to walk across the huge kitchen, my steps echoing out in the empty space, and stand next to him.

  “Piper seems to have made herself comfortable in her new workspace,” I say. “Although I’m not sure why she needed to take up three rooms.”

  He adds a splash of water on his hands. “We both know Piper works in her own ways.”

  “That’s a polite way to put it.” I look down at the wooden table, drawing a line in the flour. “And any news of the Gardener? Calla was asking.”

  “Not yet.” He looks up from his work, studying my face. “But we will find him. I promise you, Rose. And when we do, you can decide his fate.”

  “There’s nothing to decide,” I say through clenched teeth. “I already know his fate. He does not have long on this earth.”

  He nods, hesitating as he looks down at the dough. “There is one other thing, though.” After a moment, he reaches into his robe and pulls out Oren’s white dragon pipe. He lays it on the table in front of him, touching the dragon’s tail with his finger softly. “While we were…preparing my uncle’s body for burial, we ended up, well…” His voice cuts off and instead of finishing his sentence, he reaches back into his robe and pulls out an identical pipe, though this dragon is carved of onyx. The detail in both pipes mirror each other, one etched in bone while the other gleams beautifully in darkness. Both dragons have their mouths open, roaring smoke.

  “They’re the same.” I pick up the new black pipe, holding it up closer to see the scales.

  “It seems my uncle kept that pipe on his person.” He looks away when he speaks.

  The moment the emperor faltered during our discussion of Oren burns the tip of my tongue. I’m not sure if the information will help Rayce or hurt him. But this is the man that wants to believe the best in every person. I can’t imagine him not knowing there was still a shade of the person he admired in his uncle.

  “When I was in his office, I mentioned something about Oren.” I keep my voice soft, studying the eye of the dragon so I don’t have to look at Rayce. “He seemed to falter when he spoke about him. I think he regretted killing him, even if he couldn’t admit it out loud. This, to me, proves that he felt remorse, even if it was only a little.”

  He turns back my way, a soft smile on his lips and he nods. “That’s what I’d like to believe, too. I know…” His breath catches. “Knew. I knew my uncle and I truly believe that even if he didn’t want to admit it, he cared for Oren.”

  My brow furrows and I set the pipe down. We’re also talking about the same man who was willing to kill Oren and willing to kill Rayce,
too, if I hadn’t done anything about it. My feelings about the emperor are complicated at best, a nest of weeds I’m not ready to untangle.

  He grabs more flour and sprinkles it over the sweet-smelling dough in front of him like he’s blanketing the ground with snow. The way whatever stress he has been feeling just melts away from his shoulders and his eyes become softer captivates me, tempting me into the same state of calm as he is. He seems so at ease and sure of himself in here. Unlike the way I feel. Every step I take feels burdened with responsibility, especially after all of Delmar and a small portion of Varsha in the form of Darra Shing’s squadron found out my secret.

  “How do you know when you’re ready to rule?” I ask. Backing up to the edge of the counter, I hop up and sit on it, letting my slippered feet dangle, and try to push away the anxiety that sticks to me like honey.

  He’s quiet for a moment, so focused on keeping his hands at what he considers the optimal amount of pressure to make the honey crisps that I think he might not have heard me.

  “I don’t think anyone is ready to rule,” he says, still studying the texture of his creation. “But that particular job doesn’t wait for you to catch up. If you don’t step up, then someone else will, and those that grab for power generally aren’t worthy of it.”

  His words evoke an image of the general who now sits on my father’s throne. Or rather, my throne. Now that Delmar has been freed and Varsha crossed the Blue Wall, it won’t be long before we turn our focus to the traitor.

  Rayce brushes his forehead with the back of his hand, dusting powder all over himself.

  I reach out to wipe the smudge away, but I freeze at the last second.

  A puzzling reaction, Piper had said. She went on to run so many tests, I thought I would run out of blood, but my sacrifice helped her conclude that the reason I didn’t have the same out-of-character reaction as Rayce was because I’m Varshan. I was exposed to Borenite at a young age and I’ve been in Delmar long enough to have grown accustomed to Zarenite as well.

  Rayce, on the other hand, had not. We couldn’t figure out what triggered it until he’d caressed my cheek when I’d given up hope, trying to comfort me. His eyes flashed that strange blue color for a second, but that was all it took. We could only subdue him with the help of three other men and I nearly broke down in front of everyone when I grabbed his hand and saw his eyes flash blue.

  While I’m immune to the negative reaction of mixing both minerals together, I’m also the trigger that switches Rayce back and forth between out of control rage and his usual self.

  Pain ripples through me, knowing that even being in the same room with him right now is a risk. One accidental brush of our hands could switch him back into his confused state where everyone is an enemy.

  Piper’s only assertion when we asked how to fix it was time, but it had already been a week and we still couldn’t kiss without risk.

  The irony wasn’t lost on me. He made me complete and I made him into a monster.

  He has frozen with me, both realizing the reality of our situation.

  “It’s all right,” he whispers, his voice managing to sound small in the gigantic room. “You can touch me.”

  “No.” My voice is flat, resigned. I drop my hand. “I can’t. You know I can’t.”

  He lets go of his dough at the most important part. Every time we’ve ever made honey crisps together, he’s been completely focused because it can go flat and ruin the recipe, but that clearly doesn’t matter as he moves to stand in front of me, his hands covered white. He takes a step forward, pressing into my knees, the fabric of our clothes keeping our skin from touching, keeping me from changing him into a ball of rage.

  “Yes, you can.” His voice comes out rough and he places a hand on my knee, leaning in.

  I’m caught in his gaze, a fly in a spider’s web, except every inch of my body welcomes him to devour me. He moves farther, teasing my mouth with the nearness of his own, so close I can see the dark black rim around his eyes.

  “We shouldn’t,” I whisper into his lips. “I want to, but we can’t.”

  Just a few blissful inches and we could connect, making the world as bright as Zarenite behind my eyelids. But the consequence of that touch is too much, too selfish. Averting my gaze so he can’t see the longing and hurt in my eyes, I study the pointed tops of my slippers, a gift from one of the Varshan soldiers.

  Rayce can no longer afford to even take small risks now that he is the emperor. He needs a clear head all the time, and with my touch literally clouding his head, it’s obvious why we shouldn’t even be in the same room alone.

  Yet, he moves closer.

  “But I have to,” he says.

  His face hovers a breath away from mine, washing me in his spicy, sweet scent. I lick my lips, already familiar with what he’d taste like. Sweet like honey.

  “We can’t risk it,” I say. “Not after everything we’ve gained. Not when you’re so close to completing your goal.”

  He takes a deep breath, his eyes searching mine until I’m lost in them. My heart begs to be released from my chest and my hands tingle, wanting nothing more than to touch his skin, grasp onto his robe and pull him toward me until I’m covered in his delicious warmth. He is fire and I will always crave his flame. Though on my own, I’m just a jumbled mix of ingredients, he can make me into something worth tasting.

  “Rose…” His voice catches. “Arianna, listen to me. Everything I’ve accomplished, all that we have gained is meaningless to me if I can’t share it with you. I want to build a new world because it’s what the people deserve, it’s what you deserve. But if I can’t touch you, then I don’t want any part of it. Even if I remain like this forever, without being able to kiss you, I will lose myself just the same. So…” He moves in a fraction closer, reaching out his hand. “Let me touch you and change and then kiss me and change me back.”

  Every part of me burns with his words, setting my skin on fire, drawing me in. My lips pulse with his nearness and I want nothing more than to wrap myself in his arms.

  His voice is low, gruff in his throat. “But when you do, don’t let me go. If you don’t let me go, I can stay with you. I can feel you next to me, I can breathe you in. I can come alive.”

  Even if he’d give me a chance to respond, I’m so lightheaded by his words, by how he’s willing to risk everything that I couldn’t answer if I wanted to. Maybe this time it will be different, maybe today the effects that saved his life and simultaneously robbed him from me will have worn off. A girl can hope, right?

  He moves all at once, shifting between my legs, his hips forcing them slightly wider, burning me from the inside. He touches my cheek with his floured hand, his rough calluses gentle against my skin.

  His eyes flash that dreaded blue with our contact, withering any hope still fighting inside me. His face twists to a snarl and I duck away from him, so his bare hand no longer touches my cheek. Before he loses himself in the strange side effect of the powder, I grab his other hand. His eyes flash once again and the angry snarl melts into the sweetest smile. Will we always be forced to touch in twos from now on?

  Without hesitation, he slides his free hand around my waist, resting on the small of my back, and meets my lips with his in a gentle embrace, as if to say thank you. My eyes flutter closed and I lean into the sweet honey taste of his breath, deepening our kiss in my exploration to find the source of his sweetness. He moves even closer, pressing his hardened body to mine, molding my skin like the dough under his rolling pin. An ache awakens for him, burning fire deep within me.

  He sucks on my bottom lip, his tongue parting my lips, filling all my cold spaces with warmth I didn’t even realize I was craving. My head falls away and I’m suddenly thankful for this countertop, because I wouldn’t be able to withstand the way he’s trying to send me to the stars.

  There’s a desperation that wasn’t there before, something found only at the very closest edge of loss that I want to lean into and shy away from
at the same time. I reach up with one hand, clawing at his robe.

  When our lips part, mine pulse with the movement of his. It could have been long enough for the honey crisps he’s abandoned on the table beside us to bake, but it’s only felt like a second.

  I open my eyes, locking gazes with him. Though the sweetness of our kiss still makes my heart flutter, fear sits in my mind as dark as a raincloud. We have been through so much in the last few months, and after the treacherous last few weeks, it feels so unfair to potentially lose him all over again to something neither of us can control. I saw him in that jail cell, and knew he wasn’t long for this world if I hadn’t done something to patch his wounds, so why then, are we meant to suffer because of it? If I can’t be with him, remain by his side, what has been the point of all of our struggling? I forced myself to lead, to find a way to be okay with it so that I could be with him.

  I whisper my fears into the warmest flame I know, hope he can kiss them away again. “What if we can’t find a way to fix you, Rayce? What if I’ve destroyed us? We can’t live our entire lives like this. It would always be a risk. And how are you supposed to rule Delmar and am I supposed to free Varsha if we can’t even figure out how to touch each other?”

  He leans down, pressing his forehead to mine. The weight of my words settles in all around me like a thousand knives.

  He runs his fingers gently over my cheek.

  “We’ll do this how we do all things, princess.” His voice is gentle, on the edge of teasing when he calls me by my station. But as he tilts his head and brushes a tiny kiss on the tip of my nose, all the playfulness from his gaze drops. “We’ll stand united and face our trials together. As long as you are by my side, I know there’s nothing we cannot overcome. Loving you is as natural as breathing is to me now. And believe me when I tell you that you are worth every risk.”

  He kisses me again on my cheek. “Every chance.”

  And again on my other cheek. “And every obstacle that ever comes our way.”