Wither & Wound

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Wither & Wound Page 17

by Demitria Lunetta


  “Got it!” Cassie says, relief in her voice, but nothing like the victorious tones that should be there. We just re-constructed a blade that can kill a god. But I don’t feel anything other than tired as I lift the weapon.

  It’s small but heavy, the weight of it difficult to wield. How is a person supposed to fight with something like this? It would take both my arms and all my strength just to take a single swing.

  Something is wrong. Something isn’t working. I just don’t know what.

  Cassie feels it too, her brows coming together as she watches me take an experimental stab at an invisible foe. The weight throws my balance off and I stumble forward, falling to the floor with a thud. The sword flies from my hands, stabbing the wooden floor where it sticks for a second before slowly falling over.

  Cassie pulls me up, and I retrieve the sword. Holding it up again, it feels awkward, heavy and oddly…dead. Or like a willful toddler playing dead.

  The summer after eighth grade I ended up babysitting a monstrous two-year-old neighbor who had a constant runny nose, liked to bite, and threw temper tantrums loud enough to make his whole house shake. But the worst part was his parents’ insistence that all naughty behavior be followed by a trip to the thinking chair. Most of the time I had to carry him there. And every time he would go limp, letting his weight sag in my arms. It was a relief when I got fired after accidentally dropping him on his head.

  I can see my own misgivings on Cassie’s face.

  “Well…” she says, eyeing the sword dubiously. “It might look nice hanging on the wall.”

  “Nonsense,” Metis says, eyeing me over her desk with something close to disgust on her face. “What do you mean it’s not working? It’s a sword. It doesn’t have to work, only the hand that holds it does.”

  “See for yourself,” I say, pulling the blade out of my bag.

  I put the sword on her desk where it rests, heavy and cold as it was yesterday in my room. Metis takes one glance, her confidence slipping when her instinct tells her the same thing mine does; this is no weapon. It’s only ornamental. But her face changes as she looks down at it, a flicker of understanding lighting up her eyes.

  “Watch this, girl,” she says, and closes her hand over the hilt.

  Everything changes.

  The gem sparks, a fiery light taking hold deep inside of it that continues to grow, its life spreading out into the metal of the blade and hilt, suffusing it with a warmth I can feel even from where I stand. The blade grows, lengthening into a broadsword. Metis lifts it deftly, and I somehow know it’s not her goddess’s strength that lets her do it. With the ruby alight, the blade is lighter, easier to wield.

  Almost like it wants to kill.

  Metis swirls the sword around her, slicing the air with practiced moves that whip too close for comfort. I back away, stumbling into my chair as she lowers the weapon, her eyes as bright as the ruby.

  “What happened?” I ask. “What changed?”

  Metis lays the sword back down on her desk, where it falls dead again, light diffused, once more a piece of heavy, unwieldy metal.

  “It’s like I said,” Metis answers me. “It’s not the sword that has a job, it’s the hand that holds it. Zeus was a horrible husband, and Hephaestus forged this sword for vengeance. It comes alive to my touch because I have a grudge, the will to see Zeus struck down. You…”

  Her eyes go to mine, clearly disappointed.

  “You do not.”

  “I told you that from the beginning,” I say. “I don’t want to kill anyone, ever again. I got all the pieces, just as you asked. I put them together. It’s not my fault I’m not a cold-blooded murderer.”

  Metis shrugs. “Then it was pointless. Where there’s a will, there’s a way. You lack the first.”

  “It’s not pointless,” I insist, reaching for the sword. It falls heavy in my hand, dragging down my shoulder as I pull it off her desk. It shortens back to its stubby knife form. “I wanted to have this blade so that we could use it as a tool, not a weapon. I can still take it to Mr. Zee, tell him that I am his Moggy child, and convince him to leave the school.”

  Metis’s gaze goes to my hand, where the sword hangs, its ruby dead and dull.

  “Of course, you may try,” she says, emphasis on the last word. “But remember, though these days Zee comes off as a doddering old fool, he still remains the king of the gods. You might want to let a sleeping bear lie, unless you know exactly what you’re going to do with him once he wakes up, and how you’re going to protect yourself.”

  “It’s not me who needs protection,” I tell Metis, my hand on the door. “It’s Mavis. Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for my sister.”

  “Oh yes,” she says. “The trial starts tomorrow, doesn’t it?” Her eyes go to the sword once again, a barely concealed glint of mocking humor in them. “Best of luck.”

  I didn’t need the reminder from Metis that my sister’s trial starts tomorrow. I haven’t seen her since I wore Fern’s face, and Mavis told me that I’d have to choose between killing Zee or letting her die.

  She’d been down then, and I can’t imagine what she feels like now.

  My own optimism is flagging; can the ragtag remnant of the monsters’ resistance army really help my sister? Can I?

  Even though I lack the resolve to kill Zee, I’ve tried to stick with the plan of showing him the sword and telling the truth about my bloodline. I wasn’t even going to ask him to leave MOA anymore, just to give me my sister and let us leave quietly.

  But fear has a deep grip on Mr. Zee now; he never leaves his office and won’t allow anyone to see him—other than Themis and Hepa, who is continuing to bring him his tainted ambrosia.

  Themis managed to convince Zee that the trial must have some semblance of seriousness, given the seriousness of Mavis's crimes, and that she could be sentenced to death. Apparently Themis had bargained with Zee—he could have his Hawaiian luau theme, but only if the jury was comprised of Mavis’s peers. If students filled the benches instead of gods, it might at least appear to be something less than the celebration of murdering a teenage girl, traitor or not.

  Zee agreed.

  And that, unfortunately, puts Cassie on the spot. As in, the stand.

  “I want to help,” Cassie tells me now, as we sit huddled together on my bed, an extra blanket across our legs for warmth. “But if I lie, I don’t think I could hold up to Zee’s questioning.”

  “No one is asking you to lie,” I say. “Besides, I don’t even know if you can, if Themis has her scales of justice.”

  The first time I’d seen the scales on Themis’s desk, she’d been using them to track the progress of the gods’ war against the monsters. When they make their appearance tomorrow at the trial, they’ll be doing something altogether different—deciding the fate of my sister, along with the students selected for the jury.

  As Mavis’s former roommate, Cassie is coming forward both as a character witness, and to be examined by the prosecutor—Zee himself, of course. And Cassie’s right; she won’t be able to lie. While she might not have outright known that Mavis had been spying for the monsters, she’d had her suspicions. And those will all come out into the light tomorrow.

  “Try not to worry,” I say, wrapping an arm around Cassie’s shoulders. “Remember we’re not going to be able to prove her innocent; everyone knows what Mavis did, and I hear that Nico is even returning to testify. With that empty eye socket, he’ll make a compelling witness. She doesn’t stand a chance of not being convicted; we’re just trying to get the jury to agree not to kill her.”

  “Fire or flood,” Cassie whispers, her voice thick with tears.

  My own eyes fill as well. If the jury decides against her, Zee will kill Mavis on the spot. I press my palms over my eyes, knowing I’d rather rip them out than watch Mavis die. “By the end of the day tomorrow, it will be all over,” I say. “No matter what happens, nothing will be the same.”

  Cassie grabs hold of both my hands. “Ed
ie! Ever since touching the Seer Stone my visions have been stronger and more focused. Do you want me to try and see some of tomorrow? Nothing is set in stone—if we know it will go badly—”

  “Then we can maybe change it,” I finish for her. “Yes, if you think you can handle it.”

  I grab the Seer Stone from where I stashed it in my underwear drawer. Getting down on the floor, Cassie sits in lotus position. Her chin sinks to her chest as she takes deep breaths and then slowly releases them. I hand her the stone.

  I wait, quietly, watching her and resisting the urge to ask her “Anything yet?”

  Suddenly she gasps. Her eyes pop open and meet mine. She looks...horrified.

  “Cassie, is it Mavis—?” I ask, as she shoots to her feet.

  She shakes her head wildly, like she’s trying to get something out of it. “No, no, no.”

  I put a hand on her arm. “What is it? Please, tell me!” She jerks away from me so hard that she stumbles into the wall. It seems to knock some sense back into her, because she looks at me this time as if she actually remembers who I am. The stone drops from her hands and shatters on the floor.

  “It wasn’t Mavis. Or it had to do with her, but I’m not sure. I think she’ll survive. Maybe. I don’t know.” She is weeping now, but when I again try to reach for her she scuttles sideways until the door is at her back. “There’s nothing you can change. You wouldn’t want to anyway. It’s all how it has to be.” The door flies open and Cassie slips out in the hallway. “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

  And with that she’s gone.

  I sink onto the floor, not bothering to hold back my sobs.

  Whatever’s gonna happen tomorrow—it’s definitely gonna be bad.

  23

  When I wake up the next morning, I feel like even the weather is being contrary.

  It’s a beautiful day. The smell of roasting pork filters across the campus, slipping into the window while I get dressed. The day when my sister's fate is sealed should be gloomy.

  Normally my magical uniform makes getting ready easy, but today I have to figure out the best way to hide the small, dense sword. Under my skirt, it hangs at my thigh, so heavy that I have to practice walking, adjusting my gait to allow for its weight.

  It reminds me of Mavis trying to teach me how to walk in heels when I was fourteen, me fumbling and falling all over the place, Mavis laughing from her bed, ducking when I finally gave up and threw the shoes at her.

  The memory pierces me like a knife.

  I shake my head, trying to clear it, just as the sounds of a steel drum band warming up joins the scent of the pork.

  “Utter bullshit,” I say under my breath, slamming the window shut.

  If it looks like things are going badly for Mavis at the trial, I will announce myself from the crowd, claim my bloodline, and let Zeus know that I’ve got the sword that can bring him down. Hopefully he’ll overlook the fact that without the burn of vengeance in my blood, the sword couldn’t slice an apple, much less a god.

  Students are streaming out across the green and I join them, Cassie and Greg at my side, as we all make our way to the amphitheater.

  I try to get a moment alone with Cassie to ask if she’s okay, but she deliberately deflects, turning away each time.

  “Something’s up with her,” Greg whispers to me. “She came to my room last night all freaked out. And then…” His words trail off, as he blushes bright red.

  “And then what?” I demand.

  He pulls me in closes and lowers his voice even further. Straining to hear, I lean in more, his lips nearly at my ear as he tells me, “She asked if I was a virgin. And I told her sort of yes, and well, long story short, this morning I am definitely not a virgin anymore.”

  I jerk back my eyes wide. Of course, I knew that Cassie and Greg had a thing going on, but what did she see that made her decide to go and jump his bones?

  My hands go cold as the only possible answer occurs to me. Cassie’s going to get hurt. Maybe even die today. Oh gods.

  Pulling Greg close again, I quickly explain about Cassie’s vision and then my suspicions about what she saw.

  He frowns at me when I finish. “You’re kinda guessing a lot there, Edie. Maybe she saw bloodshed in general. You know she still has PTSD from when you and Nico broke her out of prison last summer; it might’ve triggered her.”

  “Maybe,” I say doubtfully. I glance over my shoulder where Cassie has fallen behind us. “It felt more specific than that, though. I’m afraid for her.”

  Greg nods. “Don’t worry, I’ll watch her.”

  “Good.” I squeeze his arm. “And if anything happens, get her to me. I’ll make sure she’s protected.”

  “Gods!” Greg glares at me. “She’s my girlfriend. I’ll protect her!”

  “This is Cassie’s life we’re talking about. Don’t be stupid,” I shout whisper at him.

  “I know you think I’m totally useless, Edie. But I’m not.” And with that, Greg turns on his heel and stalks off in the other direction.

  Which means that I enter my sister’s trial alone.

  The benches are all full—Mr. Zee has made attendance at the trial mandatory.

  Whole pigs are roasting on spits, and we’re all handed leis as we filter into our seats. I pull the flower necklace over my head, wishing this were just one of those trippy dreams I used to have as a kid when my fever got too high. It seems that way. The atmosphere here feels like a carnival mixed with a funeral mixed with...bacon.

  I’m already sweating under the cloak, and am glad to sit down. Cassie goes to the front to be seated with the other witnesses, Greg finding a seat in the row behind her. I take a seat next to Jordan and Hepa, who both look at me solemnly. They’re holding hands and Hepa gives me a “I gave in” shrug.

  "It will be okay, Edie," Jordan assures me, but he doesn’t sound like he actually believes it. Not even light-hearted Jordan can find the silver lining in this cloud.

  Zeus sits on a throne in the middle of the stage, presiding as judge at a trial he cannot be impartial to. He wants Mavis dead, and has made that clear from the beginning. Hades is there and I try not to make eye contact. I don't want to deal with his party bro shit right now. Themis, Metis, Hermes, and a handful of other gods are on the left side of the stage, and I see the glint of Themis’s scales under her chair when she arranges her robes.

  She catches my eye and gives me a nod. Her scales are divinely inspired to weigh the truth. If the monsters don’t make it, we can always ask that the scales decide Mavis’s fate. The downside is that Mavis is a spy; that’s the truth. And she’s done some pretty horrible things in the service of the monsters…like gouging out Nico’s eye.

  He’s here, despite being expelled from campus. I expected it, but my stomach still gives a lurch when I see him in the front row, with the other witnesses who will be called. He’s alongside Cassie, and a few other students, most of whom I recognize as shifters from his little army, ones who weren't expelled. Somehow I doubt they’re going to be called as character witnesses.

  On the right-hand side of the stage sits the jury, a gathering of Mavis’s peers. They’re all students, a good mix of shifters, healers, and vampires. I don’t know any of them personally, so I have no idea which way the wind is blowing…other than not at all.

  Fern joins us, pushing past Jordan and Hepa to squeeze in beside me.

  “Watch it,” Hepa says as she scoots down a seat.

  Fern ignores her and leans in to whisper, “I've had a message from Marguerite.” Jealousy, then fear flares in me. Val hadn’t sent Kevin to me this morning. Why?

  “The rescue is on,” she tells me. “Unless—”

  “Fern!” Kratos calls. “Come attend to the prisoner!”

  Oh Gods. Unless what!? But I can't ask with Kratos’s eyes on Fern. She shoots me a look then scrambles back past Jordan and Hepa.

  I wipe a sheen of sweat from my brow as Themis rises, clearing her throat. “Students of Mount Olympus Acad
emy, we are gathered here today to hear testimony regarding the actions of Mavis Evans, a.k.a. Emmie Jenkins, former student, shifter, and spy.”

  “And traitor,” Mr. Zee says, rising to his feet to grip both sides of his throne, his face already flush with ambrosia.

  “That’s for the jury to decide,” Themis says easily, waving for Kratos to bring Mavis in.

  I haven’t seen her since my visit to the dungeons, and my sister hasn’t improved in the meantime. She holds her head up when she walks onto the stage, but I can tell it takes real effort. She’s tired and underfed, the manacles on her ankles and wrists dragging with every step. The magical collar to prevent her from shifting has worn sore spots on the skin of her neck, some of which ooze blood. Her clothes are a tattered mess, and—judging by the reaction from the front row—she doesn’t smell very good.

  But she keeps her head high as she is led to her chair; a plain wooden one next to Zee’s golden throne. Fern stands behind her, ready to attend her if the strain of the trial becomes too much. Fern’s eyes keep flitting to the sky and I can’t help looking up as well, wondering what she’s seeing. But there’s nothing there except a brilliant blue dotted with fluffy white clouds.

  Once Mavis is seated Themis explains that she is expected to sit quietly and listen to all the witnesses before being given a chance to speak. Themis doesn’t add “if we get that far,” but I can see her thinking it as she slants a narrow look in Zee’s direction.

  He’s already had one outburst. It wouldn’t be surprising at all if he decided to forgo any semblance of a fair trial and simply incinerate my sister with a lightning bolt on the spot. He could. And no one could stop him.

  The idea makes my skin prickle, goosebumps breaking out under the sweat. I rub the sword strapped to my leg. I could stop him.

  The first person called to testify is Nico.

  It’s painful seeing his smug smile as he watches Mavis, while she strains to stay upright in her chair. But it’s even worse when he starts to tell his story of how she took his eye. The worst part is that even though the story is horribly one-sided, painting him as ceaselessly loyal to the gods and Mavis as the conniving backstabber, it’s also clear that Nico believes all of it.

 

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