“Tell me about the war,” I said, when it became clear that Max didn’t even know where to start.
He lifted his chin toward my hands. “You keep going with those butterflies, and I will.”
I obeyed. So did he.
“There is an area in northern Ara,” he began, “A mountainous region called the Ryvenai territory. Traditionally, the region has always had some tension with the rest of Ara, even centuries ago. They have always been somewhat separatist. Over the course of Aran history, they’ve fought for independence no less than five times. But the one eight years ago was by far the worst, because it was the first big one since the rise of magic and the establishment of the Orders.”
“Why worse?”
“Because an abnormally large proportion of Solarie are Ryvenai. In fact, many people believe that all Solarie are Ryvenai in some way, even if it was centuries back in their bloodline.”
“Are you?”
He let out a humorless chuckle. “Enough to be stuck with one of those ridiculously long names.”
“So you fought for—”
“I fought against the Ryvenai, not for them. It didn’t make me very popular with anyone.”
The more he spoke, the more his voice tightened, like a string drawing taut. I could tell this was difficult for him to discuss.
“Why?” I asked.
“I had been in the military since I was twelve. It wasn’t even a choice for me. Besides, I would never throw away everything I had built”
Twelve?
At my blink of surprise, he added, “I wasn’t a soldier then. It was what I did instead of a traditional apprenticeship. I was trained by the military. Honestly? I loved it there. But, it was different in peacetime.”
A faint steam rose from the surface of the water around him. “Anyway,” he huffed. “This is not about me.”
“It isn’t?” I pressed.
“It isn’t.” He eyed me. “Butterflies, please.”
I obeyed, but my mind was far away. “Did Sammerin serve also?”
“Yes.”
“As a healer?” A pause. “No.”
“Then—?”
“There were more useful ways to utilize someone with his mastery of flesh and bone.”
I didn’t know what that meant — not exactly — but the darkness that imbued his voice made me think of Sammerin’s quiet, observing expression. It seemed so incompatible with anything that could ever be described in such a tone.
Max shook his head, like he was chasing away an image of his own. “Anyway. It was bad. Armies of Wielders hurling all kinds of terrible magic at each other left and right, and not caring who was caught in the crossfire. No one had
ever seen that scale of destruction before, and no one knew how to handle it.”
I thought of what I had done to Esmaris. Me, an inexperienced Fragmented girl — without so much as touching him. I could only imagine what trained Wielders were capable of. And in those kinds of numbers…
Max cleared his throat. “Butterflies, please.” He sounded grateful to change the topic, even momentarily.
I looked down at the still water, my fragmented reflection glinting back at me from the glassy water. And I made another butterfly.
“How long did it last?”
“Two years,” Max replied, bitterly. “There have been wars much, much longer. But none of them had even been half as bloody.”
“And the Queen—”
“She was just a small child then. The war was nearly coming to an end, or so we thought. And then, the King was killed by his best friend. The person he trusted above anyone else. And that sent everything to shit all over again. Apparently…” His voice flattened. “She was there when it happened.”
No wonder she was paranoid. “But you won still?”
“The Crown won, in the end, yes.” His correction was strained and firm. The Crown — not him.
Those words echoed again: This is the man responsible for the end of the war. Responsible for our victory at Sarlazai.
“Because of Sarlazai?” I whispered.
Max flinched, so slightly that I wouldn’t have seen it had I not been watching his face so intently, tracing the tightening muscles around his eyes and jaw. “Yes,” he said, and offered nothing else.
A victory — or a devastation — strong enough to bring triumph to a country that no longer even had a king. It had
to have been something incredible.
He looked at me as if he were expecting me to press him for more information, and was dreading it. And he was right in that the questions were rising to the tip of my tongue. But…
Something gave me pause. Something that lingered beneath the steeling panes of his face, something vulnerable that begged not to be prodded.
I recognized that hidden vulnerability. I nursed it in my own bones.
So, I didn’t touch it. Not this time.
Instead, I said, “Now she kills men in streets.”
“It’s been less than a year since she received control from the advisors that ruled in her stead during her childhood. She had that power for weeks before she started getting tyrannical.”
He said it with such disdain, and though I didn’t know the word itself, I knew well enough what he meant. Especially when I thought of that blood spilling over the stairs, seeping at Max’s feet.
But something didn’t sit right. “What does she want?” I asked.
Max scoffed. “Does it matter? Power. Revenge. Who knows.”
I shook my head.
I had been excellent at the role I played at Esmaris’s estate, and it wasn’t because I was the most beautiful girl or the most talented or the best dancer. It was because, every single time I turned my attention to a man, I asked, What does he want?
“Is more complicated and more simple than that,” I said. “Always.”
The man I whored myself to didn’t want sex. Not really. He wanted to feel powerful. Specifically, more powerful than Esmaris. And once I figured that out, he was butter in my hands. Oh no, I couldn’t, he would be so upset, he
would never allow it. And that price went up and up and up.
“Once she starts slaughtering people in the streets, I don’t care what she wants. I don’t care that she’s a child. It doesn’t make those people any less dead.”
I thought of the fear that ripped through the air when I looked at the man on the steps.
“I felt such fear, yesterday, when I looked at that man,” I said. “Then, I thought it belonged to him. And some probably did. But…” I thought of the little girl watching her father die. Watching his death at the hands of someone she likely called an uncle. “Perhaps it was hers.”
Max paused at this only for a moment. “People do all kinds of terrible things out of fear. It doesn’t change anything. I know far too well what that kind of behavior leads to.”
He was no longer looking at my butterflies. Instead, his gaze turned only to me.
I met it. “And your family—” “— were war casualties.”
He said it with a finality that I knew I couldn’t challenge, and I didn’t want to even if I could. He could keep his secrets a little longer. I knew how painful it could be to even acknowledge such memories, let alone force them to scald their way up your throat.
“We all have sad stories,” I murmured, and Max simply nodded.
The ensuing silence was so heavy that it stifled my breath. I continued making butterflies, and long, wordless minutes passed.
After some time, I shivered. “I am cold,” I announced, grateful for any excuse to break the tension, and pushed my way to the shore. The unrelenting warmth of the air was actually a relief at this point, lifting the water on my skin to steam.
I didn’t even think to be self-conscious until I turned around to see Max standing completely still in the water. He looked like he wasn’t even breathing, his searing gaze hurling an arrow through my chest — the intensity of it paralyzing me.
What?, I wanted to ask, but the force of his stare was so
strong that the question died before it left my lips.
“I hope that whoever did that to you died a terrible, painful death,” he said at last, words hissing like steam. “And I hope that if there is an underworld, they suffer there forever.”
Warmth rose to my face.
My scars. I had managed to forget about them — at least for a few hours.
Did I hope the same? I wasn’t always sure. He would have killed you, a voice whispered to me. But every time I thought of Esmaris, I thought more about the way his life felt draining from his body than the frenzied fury in his eyes as he beat me.
“We all have our sad stories,” I said, content to leave my throat unscalded, and pulled my jacket over my shoulders.
 |
THAT NIGHT, I sat in front of the fireplace, looking over my notes from our lessons with my legs crossed in front of me. Max slumped in one of the armchairs, a book in his hands and a pair of reading glasses perched over his nose.
It was an oddly peaceful moment, to the extent that any moment was peaceful, in my head — my head that was always reaching for the next thing, always thinking of Threll and Serel and my family. None of that was gone, but some of it disappeared in the crackling of the fire — in the chuckle that I had released as Max grumbled to himself while lighting it with a snap of his fingers, Just like fucking
Ara, the inside of an oven all day and then damn freezing at night.
I raised my gaze from my books and watched the flickering firelight shudder over his features, imbuing the thoughtful lines of his face with intermittent flames.
“Max.”
Nothing moved but his eyes, which flicked to me. “Hm?” “What is it that you want? In life.”
Only a very brief pause, and then he muttered, “Mostly, I just want everyone to leave me alone.”
Exactly what I’d thought he’d say.
But then, I thought of the way that he had agreed to train me after he heard why I was here to begin with. Of the odd urgency in his voice when he had asked me what Zeryth Aldris was doing in Threll, or when he pushed Via to tell him more about her weapons’ contracts. And I thought of how he had stood there in front of the Queen, what he had said to her — and the way he had jerked forward, as those spears dove for that man’s back.
I answered slowly, “I think no.”
He peered at me over his reading glasses, eyebrows arched. “You think no.”
“I think you are better than that.”
It took him a moment to respond with a quiet chuckle beneath his breath. He looked back down to his book and flipped a page as he said, “Well, thank you, not many people think so,” and we lapsed back into a quiet, comfortable silence.
