Bitterblue skt-3

by Kristin Cashore

  Bitterblue stood in her tracks. "How long have you been lying to me?"

  He spoke the words in a whisper. "As long as you have been queen."

  Bitterblue cried out. "You're no better than my father!" she said. "I hate you. You've crushed my heart."

  "Bitterblue," he said. "Forgive me for what I've done and for what I must do."

  Then he pushed through the doors and was gone.

  38

  SHE RAN INTO the sitting room. The fake crown lay on the carpet and Death's pages were gone.

  She ran back into the foyer and pushed through the outer doors. She was nearly to the end of the corridor when she turned back, ran past her own startled Lienid Guard, and pounded on Giddon's door. Pounded again and again. Giddon pulled the door open, rumpled and barefoot and clearly only half awake.

  "Will you go to the library," she said, "and make sure Death is safe?"

  "All right," he said, bleary and confused.

  "If you see Thiel," she said, "stop him and don't let him go. He's learned about the journals and a thousand things have happened and I think he intends to do something terrible, Giddon, but I don't know what it is," and she ran.

  SHE BURST INTO the lower offices. "Where is Thiel?" she cried.

  Every face in the room stared back at her. Rood stood and said quietly, "We thought he was with you, Lady Queen. He told us he was going to find you and talk to you."

  "He came and left," said Bitterblue. "I don't know where he went or what he intends to do. If he comes here, please don't let him go. Please?" she said, turning to Holt, who sat in a chair by the door, staring at her dazedly. Bitterblue grabbed Holt's arm. "Please," she pleaded. "Holt, don't let him go."

  "I won't, Lady Queen," said Holt.

  Bitterblue ran away from the offices, not reassured.

  SHE WENT TO Thiel's room next, but he wasn't there either.

  The air in the great courtyard, when she reached it, stabbed her with its coldness. Members of the Fire Guard were running in and out of the library.

  Bitterblue rushed in after them, ran through smoke, and saw Giddon on the floor leaning over Death's body. "Death," she cried, running to them, throwing herself down, her sword clunking on the floor. "Death!"

  "He's alive," Giddon said.

  Shaking with relief, Bitterblue hugged her insensible librarian; kissed his cheek. "Will he be all right?"

  "He's been knocked on the head and his hands are scraped up, but that seems to be all. You're all right? The fire is out, but the smoke is still thick."

  "Where's Thiel?"

  "He was already gone when I got here, Lady Queen," said Giddon. "The desk was in flames and Death was lying on the floor behind it, so I dragged him away. Then I ran to the courtyard, screamed for the Fire Guard, and stole some poor fellow's coat to beat the fire down. Lady Queen," he said, "I'm sorry, but most of the journals were destroyed."

  "It doesn't matter," Bitterblue said. "You saved Death." And then she looked straight at Giddon for the first time and cried out, for ragged gashes scored his cheekbone.

  "It was only the cat, Lady Queen," he said. "I found him hiding under the burning desk, stupid creature," and Bitterblue threw her arms around Giddon.

  "You saved Lovejoy."

  "Yes, I suppose," said Giddon, sooty and bloody, his arms full of the tearful queen. "Everyone is safe. There, there."

  "Will you stay with Death and watch over him?"

  "Where are you going?"

  "I've got to find Thiel."

  "Lady Queen," he said, "Thiel is dangerous. Send the Monsean Guard."

  "I don't trust the Monsean Guard. I don't trust anyone but us. He won't hurt me, Giddon."

  "You don't know that."

  "Yes, I do."

  "Take your Lienid Guard," Giddon said, looking seriously into her face. "Will you promise me that you'll take your Lienid Guard?"

  "No," she said. "But I'll promise you that Thiel will not hurt me." She pulled his face down and kissed him on the forehead as she had Death; then she ran.

  HOW SHE KNEW, she couldn't say, but she did. Something in her heart, something underneath the pain of betrayal and, in fact, more fundamental, told her. Fear told her where Thiel had gone.

  She did have the foresight, as she flew under the castle portcullis onto the drawbridge, to stop before one of the astonished Lienid Guard who was less loomingly tall than the others, and demand his coat.

  "Lady Queen," he said as he shouldered out of it, helping her into it, "you'd best not. The snow is working itself up to a blizzard."

  "Then you'd better give me your hat and gloves as well," she said, "and then go inside to warm yourself. Did Thiel come this way?"

  "No, Lady Queen," the guard said.

  He'd taken the tunnel, then. Pulling on the hat and gloves, Bitterblue ran east.

  THE STAIRS THAT led pedestrians onto Winged Bridge were built into the side of one of the bridge's great stone foundations. Stairs with no railing, in a wind that couldn't decide on a direction, in deep shadow as the clouds packed themselves tight.

  Big footprints marked the new snowfall on the steps.

  Fishing under her too-big coat, she unsheathed her sword, feeling stronger with it in her hand. Then she lifted her foot and placed it into Thiel's first footprint. Then the next step, then the next.

  At the top of the stairs, the surface of the bridge shone blue and white, and the wind screamed. "I'm not afraid of heights!" she screamed back at the wind. It touched some deep inner current of courage to scream that lie, so she did it again. The wind screamed to drown her out.

  Through the falling snow, she could make out a person standing far ahead on the bridge. The bridge was a narrow, slippery hill of marble that she must climb in order to reach the form that was Thiel.

  Thiel was at the bridge's edge. He grabbed the parapet with both hands and suddenly Bitterblue was running, sword in hand, screaming words Thiel could not hear. The surface beneath her thudding feet changed to wood, with more give, a hollow sound, snow sticking, and he hoisted his knee onto the parapet and she pushed herself, pounded, reached him, screaming, grabbed his arm and yanked him back. Crying out in amazement, losing his balance, he reeled back onto the bridge.

  Pushing herself between Thiel and the parapet, Bitterblue whipped her sword point to his throat, not caring that it made no sense to threaten a person with bodily harm who was trying to kill himself. "No," she said. "Thiel, no!"

  "Why are you here?" he cried, tears streaming down his face. He wore no coat and shook with the cold. The wet snow matted his hair down and made his features stand out sharply, like a living skeleton. "Why am I able to spare you none of this? You weren't meant to see this!"

  "Stop it, Thiel. What are you doing? Thiel! I didn't mean what I said! I forgive you!"

  He backed away, crossing the width of the bridge as she followed with her sword, until his back was to the opposite parapet. "You cannot forgive me," he said. "There is no forgiveness for what I've done. You've read his words, haven't you? You know what he made us do, don't you?"

  "He made you heal them, so that he could keep hurting them," she said. "He made you watch him as he cut them and raped them. It wasn't your fault, Thiel!"

  "No," he said, his eyes growing wide. "No, he's the one who watched. We're the ones who cut them and raped them. Children!" he cried. "Little girls! I see their faces!"

  Bitterblue was paralyzed with dizziness. "What?" she said, understanding, all at once, the final truth. "Thiel! Leck made you do the hurting?"

  "I was his favorite," Thiel said, frantic. "I was his number one. I felt the pleasure when he told me to. I feel it when I see their faces!"

  "Thiel," she said, "he forced you. You were his tool!"

  "I was a coward," he cried out desperately, against the wind. "A coward!"

  "But it wasn't your fault! Thiel. He stole who you were!"

  "I killed Runnemood—you see that, don't you? I pushed him off this bridge to stop him hurting you. I
've killed so many. I've tried to make the memory end, I've needed it to go away, but all of it only gets bigger and more impossible to control. I never meant it to grow so big. I never meant to tell so many lies. It was supposed to end. It never ends!"

  "Thiel," she said, "there is nothing that cannot be forgiven!"

  "No," he said, shaking his head, shaking the tears from his face. "I've tried, Lady Queen. I've tried, and it won't heal."

  "Thiel," she said, sobbing now. "Please. Let me help you. Please, please, come away from the edge."

  "You're strong," he said. "You will make things better; you're a true queen, like your mother. I stood here while your mother burned. When he lit her body up on Monster Bridge, I stood right here and watched. I was there to honor her passing. It's right that no one will honor mine," he said, turning around toward the parapet.

  "No," she said. "No, Thiel!" she cried, grabbing at him, dropping her useless sword, willing some part of her, some extension of her spirit or soul to reach out from inside her and entwine him, stop him, hold him on this bridge. Hold him here safe with her love. Stop struggling, Thiel. Stop fighting me. No, stay here, stay here! You will not die.

  Prying her fingers away, he pushed her so hard that she fell to the ground. "Be safe, Bitterblue. Be free of this," he said to her. Then he grabbed the parapet, hoisted himself onto it, and fell over the edge.

  39

  SHE LAY FAR above rushing water.

  Maybe he had pretended. Maybe he'd walked away while her eyes were closed, changed his mind, gone back home.

  No. He hadn't pretended. Her eyes had never closed. She had seen.

  IT WAS NECESSARY that she no longer be on this bridge. Of that, she was fairly certain. But she couldn't walk, because the bridge was too high in the air for walking on. What if she stayed here? What if she clung to a memory of a cold mountain, of Katsa's body giving her heat, of Katsa's arms holding her safe to the earth?

  Crawl, she could crawl. There was no shame in crawling when one couldn't walk. Someone had said that to her once. Someone—

  "Hey."

  The voice from above was familiar.

  "Hey, what are you doing? Are you hurt?"

  The person attached to the voice was touching her with his hands, brushing off an accumulation of snow. "Hey, can you get up?"

  She shook her head.

  "Can you talk? Is it the heights, Sparks?"

  Yes. No. She shook her head.

  "You're scaring me," he said. "How long have you been out here? I'm picking you up."

  "No," she managed, because being picked up was too high.

  "Why don't you tell me what four hundred seventy-six times four hundred seventy-seven is, all right?"

  Saf gathered her up, gathered her sword too, and carried her to the drawbridge tower while she clung to him, and tried to work that one out.

  INSIDE, IT WAS warm. There were braziers. When he lowered her to a chair, she held on to one of his arms and wouldn't let him go.

  "Sparks," he said, on his knees before her, taking off her gloves and hat, feeling her hands and face, "this is not cold sickness, and I get the feeling that it's more than your fear of heights. Last time you were afraid of heights, you had a tongue to curse me with."

  Bitterblue was holding his arm so hard that she thought her fingers would break. And then he put his other arm around her and pulled her into a hug. She transferred all her clinging pressure to his torso, hugging him back. Shaking. "Tell me what's wrong," he said.

  She tried. She really did. She couldn't.

  "Whisper it in my ear," he said.

  His ear was warm on her nose. The gold stud in his earlobe was hard and comforting on her lip. Three words. It would only take three words and then he would understand. "Thiel," she whispered. "Jumped off."

  This was met with stillness, then an exhalation, then a tightening of his arms. Then moving, lifting, resettling, until he was in the chair, holding her in his lap, holding her tight while she shook.

  SHE WOKE TO him settling her onto blankets on the floor. "Stay with me," she said. "Don't go."

  He lay beside her and wrapped his arms around her. She slept.

  * * * * *

  SHE WOKE AGAIN to low voices. Gentle hands. People leaning over her in snow-covered coats. "She'll be all right," said Raffin.

  Saf's voice said something about the snow. "Maybe you should stay here," he said.

  Po's voice said something about horses, about it being too dangerous to draw attention. Po's voice! Po was holding her, kissing her face. "Keep her safe," he said. "I'll wait for her at the bottom of the bridge when the storm is over."

  Then she was alone with Saf again. "Po?" she said, turning in confusion.

  "He was here," Saf replied.

  "Saf," she said, finding his face in the dimness. "Do you forgive me?"

  "Shh," said Saf, stroking her hair, her falling-out braids. "Yes, Lady Queen. I forgave you some time ago."

  "Why are you crying?"

  "A lot of reasons," he said.

  She wiped the tears from Saf's face. She fell asleep.

  SHE WOKE FROM a nightmare of falling. Ashen, herself, bones, everyone, everything, falling. She woke crying out and thrashing and was astonished, then devastated, to find Saf there holding her, comforting her, for this time she was truly awake, and with Saf, all the other truths of the waking world rushed back. And so she clung to him to push them away, pressed herself against him. She felt the length of his body against hers; she felt his hands. She heard his whispers, let him fill her ears and her skin. She kissed him. When he responded to her kisses, she kissed him more.

  "Are you certain you want this?" he whispered, when it became clear what was happening. "Are you certain that you're certain?"

  "Yes," she whispered. "Are you?"

  * * * * *

  WHAT IT DID was return her to herself. For Saf reminded her of trust, of her capacity for comfort, her willingness to be loved. So that afterwards, when the pain came rushing back again, fresh and relentless, she had the strength to bear it, and a friend to hold her while she sobbed.

  She cried for the part of her soul that had been clinging to Thiel and had fallen with him into the water, the part of herself that he'd torn away when he'd jumped. She cried for her failure to save him. Most of all, she cried for what Thiel's life had been.

  "No more nightmares," Saf whispered. "Dream of something that will comfort you."

  "I want to think he was happy sometimes."

  "Sparks, I'm sure he was."

  A picture of Thiel's room, stark and comfortless, came to her. "I never saw him happy. I know of nothing he enjoyed."

  "Who did he love?"

  The question sucked her breath away. "My mother," she whispered, "and me."

  "Dream of that love."

  She dreamed of her wedding. She couldn't see whom she was marrying, that person never entered the scene, and it didn't matter. What mattered was that there was music, played on all the castle's instruments, and the music made everyone happy, and she danced with her mother and Thiel.

  IT WAS EARLY morning when her growling stomach woke her. She opened her eyes to light, and the strange comfort of the dream. Then, memory. Aches, all over, from Thiel fighting her, Thiel pushing her, from crying, loss, from Saf. The snow had stopped and the sky shone blue through three tiny round windows. Saf slept beside her.

  It wasn't fair, how innocent he looked when he was sleeping. The fresh bruising around his eye and the purple that showed through the Lienid markings of his arm were also unfair. She hadn't noticed those bruises in the dimness of the day before, and he'd certainly given her no indication of them.

  How loyal and gentle Saf had been with her, and without her asking it of him. As quick to love as he was to anger, as quick to warmth as to foolishness, and he had a tenderness she wouldn't have expected from him. She wondered if you could love someone you didn't understand.

  His eyes flickered open, soft purples shining on her. When
he saw her, he smiled.

  Dream something nice, he'd said to her that night in the shop, like babies. And she had. Dream of that love.

  "Saf?" she said.

  "Yes?"

  "I think I know what your Grace is."

  IT WAS THE thing about dreams. They were so odd by nature, and they left one with such a feeling of the unreal, that how was one ever to notice when they themselves behaved strangely?

  The Grace of giving dreams was a beautiful Grace for someone contrary and dear to have. She told him so as she strapped on her knives and he tried to convince her to stay a bit longer.

  "We need to experiment," he said. "We need to test whether it's true. What if I can give you a dream by just wishing it and not saying a word? What if I can give you a highly detailed dream, like Teddy in pink stockings holding a duck? I have food here, you know. You must be starving. Stay and eat something."

  "I'm not taking the food you need," Bitterblue said, stepping into her gown, "and people will be worried about me, Saf."

  "Do you suppose I could give you bad dreams?"

  "I haven't the slightest doubt. You'll stay in this room, won't you, now that it's daylight?"

  "My sister is sick."

  "I know," she said. "I'm told she'll be all right. I've sent her Madlen. I'll send someone to you with news as soon as we have it, I promise. You understand you've got to stay here, don't you? You won't risk being seen?"

  "I'm going to go out of my skull with boredom in this room, aren't I," said Saf, sighing, then pushing his blankets aside, reaching for his clothing.

  "Wait," Bitterblue said.

  "What?" he said, glaring at her. "What—"

  Bitterblue had never seen a man naked, and she was curious. She decided the universe owed her a few minutes, just a few, to satisfy her curiosity. So she went to him and knelt, which shut him up.