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Chapter Text

Maven

This was a trap.

She’ll erase me.  Mother squeezes my skull, and I tamp down the urge to squirm.  I won’t be able to protect you anymore.  You’ll be defenseless, and for what?  A promise by a girl who chose a Lakelander over you?

You are better than this.

I am.

Why did I agree to this?  Why did I convince myself I was miserable, that I needed to change for the better?  What was I thinking, signing those papers?

I need to get out.

There’s one thing in my way.

“I’m watching you.”  Gisa wags her sewing needle, hunching over and scowling.  “Don’t even think about running.”

“Haven’t been.”  I grit my teeth.  “Though it’s charming that you think you could stop--Ow!”  Another jab, more indignifying than painful.  “Could you stop that?”

She sticks out her tongue.  “No.”

It wouldn’t take much effort to twist her arm, to slit her throat and run for the door.  But then I would alert all the guards, lose my head and all that dwelled within it.  Mother would die.  So would I.

Somehow, it doesn’t sound as bad as I thought it would.

“Maven Calore.”

I jolt, and Gisa pokes me.  My lip curls.  “You are a menace.”

She grins.

Before I can demand a restraining order, however, Rosalie emerges from the door and beckons me forward.  Mare breezes past me, and my breath hitches.  She doesn’t look.  She doesn’t take my hand.  She only strides forward, shutting the door behind her.

I blink.

Gisa slowly lines the needle with my eyeball and I stand up.  “Not gonna work.”

“How would you know?”

Behind us, Rosalie laughs.  “Maven Calore.”

I have no choice but to obey, shielding my eyes as I step across the line.  The office is bright, too bright, and I brace myself for an interrogation.  For my skull to be drilled into and my secrets laid bare.  But there are no scalpels, no blades, only a couch with candies lying on the desk before it.

I scowl.  “I was a king, you know.”

“I do know!”  She laughs.  “Come have a seat.”

Every limb in my body tenses.  “Why?”

“This is a getting to know you session.”

I blink.  “Excuse me?”

Rosalie smiles.  “I can’t help you if you don’t know who you are.  Your file is mostly crimes, but that isn’t all there is to you.”

“What is this, a hugbox?”  I grit my teeth.  “I came here to be healed, not babied.”

She tilts her head.  “It’s talking, mostly.  I can see a bit of your brain, but not all of it.  I sense you might not be ready for any ability yet.”

My hands tremble, and I almost curse.  “You don’t know me.”

“I don’t.  That’s why we’re here.”  Her smile doesn’t waver, all cheer and perfect teeth.  “Why don’t we start with what to call you?”

Your Majesty.   “Calore.”  It’s the one thing no one can take from me.  “Or Merandus, if you’re feeling spicy.”

“I am mild as they come, Mr. Calore.”  I hate her already.  “I’m not here to provoke you.”

“Then why are you here?”  Control.  Control.  Control.  My hands squeeze, so hard I can feel the crescents forming beneath.  “Why is anyone here?  Why do you think you can do anything to help?”

“You came to me.”

My hands squeeze tighter.  “Mare made me.”

“Mare can’t make you do anything.”  She eyes my fingers.  “Does it hurt, when you do that?”

I laugh.  “Pain makes you strong.”

She pauses.  “Well.”  Hesitation.  “Strong people can make it through a lot of pain.  And you’re a lot stronger than people give you credit for.  But pain can break you.  I’ve seen a lot of people who carried a weight in their hearts, one that dragged them under the ground.”

Weakness, Mother whispers.   The fit survive.  The weak die off.

“I once tried to see if Mare would kill me.”  The words spill out, soft and raw.  “I took off my flamemakers and watched her hesitate.  Maybe I should’ve given her more time.”

She startles.  “Mr. Calore–”

“Actually.”  My leg jitters.  “Call me Maven.”

“Maven.”  She softens.  “Do you know there’s more to life than pain?”

I didn’t think I could get more tense, more jittery, more close to revealing all that I shouldn’t.  “You’re very good at lying.”

“Am I?  Or are you projecting your fears onto me?”  She reaches for a clipboard, one next to a strange black box.  “Do you know what projection is?”

I scowl.  “Maybe you’re projecting.”

Rosalie sighs.  “Psychoanalyzing your therapist won’t make your problems go away, Maven.”

“We’re done here.”

“Next session’s in two weeks.”  She makes a note on her clipboard.  “Further away than I would’ve liked, but there’s only one of me.”  Sigh.  “If only I could get more staff or more funding–”

I grab a candy and shove it in my mouth.  “Not my problem.”

“Of course.”  The cheer comes back, forced and false.    She picks up the box, opening to a pair of glistening bracelets.  “I have an option for you, if you’d like to try it.”

My blood turns to frost.  “What are those ?”

“Detachable.”  The word rushes out in a sharp breath.  “I would never force you.  It’s to keep your mother out of your head, if you’d like.”

Laughter, harsh and cold.  “I didn’t think you had Arvens to bleed.”

“Like I said, it’s optional.”  The silent stone taunts me, Mare’s face shimmering in each reflection.  “Premier Davidson would prefer you wear them, but–”

I stare, unblinking, trying to remember how I bore my throne.  I had it built of silence to keep her out, yet I don’t know if I have the strength to do it again.  “Can you step outside for a moment?”

She tenses.  “Yes.”  Her eyes dart about the room.  “Just not for long.”

“Fine.”  I’ll make do.  “Please leave.”

Rosalie disappears behind the door and I exhale, swallowing.  Mother is screaming.  Begging.  Crying for her own sake as well as mine.

And I clasp the first bracelet around my wrist.

Cold bleeds into my veins again, a whisper of idiocy, yet I know better than to yank it off.  No pain, no ache, only stark silence where there used to be life.

My hands tremble.   Mare laughs at me as I clutch my temples.  She’s gone.  She’s not here.  I cannot reach for her, my lover’s curse, and I am all the stronger for it.

Rosalie reaches for my hand.  “Are you ready?"

I take a deep breath and step into the light.

Chapter Text

Cal

I’m proud to say we made it all the way to Julian’s house without a single crash.

“This isn’t the Premier’s house.”  Maven pokes his head from the backseat.  “Did you kidnap me?”

“Very funny.”  I sigh.  “I wanted some time alone before . . .  “  Before what?  Before he cast me out again?  “Before you went to Davidson’s.”

He curls into his seat, arms folded.  “I’m still driving next time.”

“Aren’t you dead?”

“You will be if you don’t shut up.”

I sigh.  “Never mind.”

It’s been a tense car ride, undercut by my failed attempts at humor.  Maven ignored me, when he wasn’t insulting me.  Even now, he doesn’t know how to love me.  But he doesn’t make a fuss when we stop, only dusting himself off as he grumbles incoherently.  It’s pointless to argue, and he knows it.

Julian’s home is small, assigned to him by Premier Davidson for his work in rebuilding Norta.  But I still struggle to navigate it, lost in the bareness and simplicity.  I halt at the entrance.  “Julian?”

He opens, door creaking.  “Welcome back.”

Maven pokes from over my shoulder.  “Hello, Jacos.”

Julian balks, nearly slamming the door on him.  It is only my extended hand that keeps him here.  “Maven.  I take it you’re . . . well?”

“Hardly.”  He sniffs.  “Your nephew insisted on bringing me.”

“What a shame.”  His voice is dry.  “I don’t suppose you plan to thank him.”

I clear my throat.  “It’s ok, Julian.  Let him be.”

Maven edges him out of the way, plopping down on the nearest chair.  The fireplace crackles, and I’m tempted to play with it, but years of discipline keeps me from trying. He folds his hands.  “Don’t bother.”

I settle beside him.  We sit in tense silence, and I swallow.  “You gave up the crown.”

He laughs.

Julian clears his throat.  “Can we have a moment?”

Maven leans back.  “Absolutely not.”

“Fetch us some tea.”  His voice simmers.  “I’m sure you know how to make it.”

“I’m sorry, am I a servant now?”

“You’re not a king.”

I bite my lip.  “Mavey–”

“ Fine .”  The words hiss between his teeth.  “Don’t expect me not to spill it.”

I could go after him.  I could try to smooth it over, be the brother he doesn’t want and never will again.  I could rub my face in my own worst nightmares.

I could always make things worse.

Julian lays a hand on my shoulder, guiding me to a place beside the fire.  “Take some,” he whispers.  “I know it soothes you.”

My throat bobs as I plunge a hand in the blaze, gathering flames in my palm and letting them lick my fingers.  The orange pulses in time to my heartbeat, accelerating as I exhale.  “Not this time.”

He sighs.  “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be done.”  I close my fist around the flame and it dies.  “He’s who he is.  And I–” Swallow.  “I’m who I am.”

“I know.”

I haven’t cried in so long.  Haven’t known why, when I have so much reason to.  Mother’s diary lies on the desk beside me.  I reach for, but don’t open it.  “He’s getting help.”

Julian bites his lip.  “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

I startle.  The fireplace casts shadows on us both, wearing us as ragged as the bruises beneath his eyes.  “What do you mean?”

“I’m telling you not to pin your hopes on this.”  His voice is low, measured.  “I know you want to believe he can change, but you have to prepare to let him go.”

I expect to feel anger.  I expect to feel rage.  But all I know is this empty chasm, one long worn from his endless river of spite.  “You’re wrong.”

He shakes his head.  “You don’t want me to be right.”

Silence ripples between us, stiff and unwelcome.  I fiddle with my flamemakers and remember Maven’s are gone, confiscated the instant he set foot in Montfort.  “If you were right, he wouldn’t be here.”

“If I were wrong, your father would be alive.”

I bite back a scream, and it barely works.  “You don’t know him.”

“I knew him more than you did.”  There’s pain in his eyes, and I can’t look away.  “He’s dead, Cal.  You can’t fix a pane of shattered glass.”

I don’t know how to respond, less so when he takes my hand.  “I know you still love him.  I know you think there is good in this world.  But he will chew you up and spit you out if you let your guard down.  And I will never forgive him for it.”

My fists clench hard enough to draw blood.  “I–”

“Excuse me.”  The air frosts, a cold I can’t feel but still makes me shiver.  “Your tea is on the floor.  Feel free to lap it up.”

Julian scowls.  “I expected nothing less.”

“Of course you did.  You never expected anything of me.”  His eyes flash with fury.  “And you were right.  You were always right.  Make me jump off a bridge, I dare you.  No one else has the spine.”

I jolt.  “Mavey–”

“Not everything’s about you, Cal.”  He stalks Julian, and he backs away.  “Stay out of this, for once in your life.”

Somehow, that’s what sets him off.

Julian lunges, yanking his collar as Maven stumbles against the nearest bookshelf.  Maven spits at him, but he only tightens his grip, knuckles white as my own face must be.  I grab their shoulders and yank, sending them to opposite sides of the room.  “I’m sorry.”  Pain pricks my eye, wet and hot.  “I’m sorry!”

I never should’ve brought him here.  Never should’ve stepped where I wasn’t welcome, where no one was welcome, not anymore.  My vision grows blurry.  “Leave.  Both of you.”

Julian shakes his head.  “I live here.”

Maven laughs.  “Of course you do.  You’re always leeching off someone or another.”

“Get out.”

“Of your head?  Never.”

“Get.  Out.”  Julian grits his teeth.  “Don’t come back.”

“Gladly.”  He spits, and I wonder if he’s trying to be Mare.  “Mother made such quick work of Coriane: It’s a shame she didn’t kill you too.”

Silence.

The book hurls, flicking him on the nose and leaving a dark gray mark.  It skids a few feet in front of me, leatherbound and slim, only for Maven to snatch it off the ground and run into the hall.  

“Wait!”  Julian freezes, face white.  “That’s not yours, don’t–”

Mother’s diary.

We dash through the door, but it’s too late.  The diary is gone.  So is Maven.  It takes several minutes to locate him, hunched and furious.  His hands are empty.  His teeth are sharp.

“I incinerated it.”  Maven shrugs.  “He was careless enough to throw it away, so I assume it wasn’t important.”

Julian twitches, but I hold him back, lowering my head.  “Just go.”

For once, he doesn’t retort.

For once, all he does is leave.

Julian stares at the floor

“I’m sorry.”  

He brushes me off.  “I should’ve told him to jump.”

“You don’t mean that.”

His head shakes.  He doesn’t say anything, not anymore.  We are at opposite sides of a strange new war, and I don’t know why I stand where I do.  Why I don’t turn around and tell Davidson he’s made a mistake.  I swallow, toying with my flamemakers.  Flamemakers like the ones we are useless without.  Flamemakers like the ones that burned her final memory away.

Flamemakers that Maven didn’t have.

Chapter Text

Maven

They’ll make me give it back.  I know they will.  In the meantime, he can curse me all he wants and call it kindness.  A mercy.  For the best.

Coward.

Couldn’t even call it death.  Letting me go.   Like I’m Cal’s pet.  Like he was the one who signed my abdication papers.  Like the hours I’d spent convincing myself there was hope were meaningless.

Maybe they are.

The transport is fortified now, guards ushering me in and locking the door behind.  I could pretend I was king again, but for the manacles still on my wrists.  The thought couldn’t make me emptier.

I stare out the window.  Mother would tell me to make a run for it.  To find another kingdom and reduce this one to ashes.  Yet I know it wouldn’t last for long.  I am in shambles, a sharp rock in the ruins, and no one can piece me back together.

The diary is still tucked in my pocket, still safe from prying eyes.  I may be broken, but I’m still alive, straightening as we pull up to Davidson’s mansion.  He’s not happy.  Of course he isn’t.  I’m a liability, a ticking clock, a prisoner with no use but as a case study.  If this was a test, I’ve certainly failed it.

They escort me to my room and lock the door, a camera in the corner as I plop down on the bed.  I bury my head in the pillow, sighing.  Jacos.  The man’s wanted me dead since before I was born.  I suppose I have Mother to thank for that.  

Not that I can talk to her right now.

I spin the bracelet around my wrist and my head spins with it.  Nausea rises in my throat.  How did Mare stand this?

It’s only fitting I bear it now.  Fitting as the brand that still burns on my chest, aching with the loss of its mistress.  She’ll never finish it.  Never be the companion I so desperately desired, who understood my darkness and embraced it.

Never.

No matter.  If she doesn’t want me anymore, then I don’t want her either.

The diary presses against my hand, worn leather and crisp paper poking my fingers.  Mother had many things to say about Coriane, about how weak she was, how easily she was led to bleed herself out in the bathtub.  Her words can’t be more than pitiful trifles.

Yet I find myself opening the pages anyway.

Dear Journal, 

Her thoughts are as trite as I expected, meaningless drivel of her brother and his paramore making plans they’ll never fulfill.  Useless creatures, brothers.  Never helpful when it matters, always lingering where they aren’t wanted.  No wonder Coriane died.

I’m about to close the page when my eye snags on a familiar name.  

I met another Queenstrial contestant today.

She details meeting Elara, the chilling voice that chased her from the dining hall, and how she prays it never happens again.  My hand wobbles, suddenly aching for a pen.

Think about snails.

If you think about snails, she won’t want to be in your head.  If you think about snails, she’ll be too grossed out to stay.  Keep thinking about them until she’s had enough and makes you forget what a snail is.

More pages, more torment, more desperate attempts to keep her from her mind.

Don’t trust the Arvens.  People can lie, and they will , even to a queen.  Silent stone is the only way.   The only safety in this world.

I don’t know why I’m writing in the margins.  What I hope to say to a dead woman, one so foolish Mother could snap her in her hands.  I flip back to clear my mind, only to catch my father within the pages.

He was kind.  Gentle.  Everything I needed, everything I craved, yet so far out of reach.  He will be king, and I will be dust.

Another note, another slip of pen, the fervent thoughts that will never reach her, not in a way that matters.  Kindness is a lie.  Kindness is a cage of docility and weakness.  He will abandon you the instant he feels like it.

Trust me.

I know.

She’s laughing at me.  I know she is.  Elara’s son, desperate and weak, unable to shake her ghost despite all his taunts.  I nearly tear the pages as I scrawl more.

Get away from her.

Run.

There’s a tunnel beneath the palace if you only look.

Think about snails.

I stare at the journal until my vision is blurry, until there’s nothing left to do but close it.  I can’t give it back anymore.

I can’t let them see what I’ve done.