Broken Throne (Red Queen #4.5)(118)



Iris didn’t speak about her gods often, and I didn’t ask. But I did some research of my own. She believes in a place beyond death, somewhere we go in the afterward. At first, I wanted to believe it too. It would mean seeing my mother again—and seeing Thomas. But Iris’s afterlife is split in two, separated into paradise and punishment. Certainly I have earned the latter.

And Thomas, my dear Thomas, certainly did not.

If there is something after death, it will not be for both of us.

I return to what I’ve always known, the burden I’ve carried with me, the end always waiting. I will never see him again. Not even in my dreams.

My mother gave me so much, but she took in return. In an attempt to rid me of my nightmares, she took my dreams. Sometimes, I prefer it. But right now, in this room, I wish I could sleep and escape, and see his face one more time. Feel what I felt with him one more time. Instead of this corrupted anger, a tangle of pain and rage that threatens to split me open every time I think of him and his body, burned beyond recognition, burned by my own damned fingers.

I wonder if I mourn him so much because I do not know what could have been, what he could have made me. Or is it because my mother never corrupted what I felt for him? Not while he lived, at least. She certainly tried later, when his memory destroyed my days. She did the same with Mare, pulling at every new burst of feeling like a gardener ripping out weeds at the root.

But even Mare doesn’t tear me apart like he still does. Even she doesn’t make me bleed like this.

Only one person living still can. And I’ll have to face him soon.

I lie back down again, hissing out a breath. I’ll make him bleed as I bleed.

I’m still lying down, an arm over my eyes, when the door opens and shuts, accompanied by heavy footfalls. I don’t need to look to know who it is. His breathing, ragged and so boorishly loud, is enough.

“If you’re looking for absolution, I think Iris has a silly little shrine somewhere in her rooms. Bother her gods instead of me,” I grumble.

I don’t look at him, keeping my eyes resolutely shut. Looking at him makes me burn with rage and jealousy. And anguish too, for what he was, the brother I no longer have the ability to love. I would incinerate my clothes if not for the Silent Stone. What’s more, he is a betrayer as much as I am, but no one seems to mind. It isn’t fair.

“Absolution?” Cal scoffs from somewhere above me. I don’t hear him sit. “It’s you who needs it, Maven. Not me.”

Sneering, I draw the arm away from my eyes and sit up to look at him fully. My brother recoils under my gaze, taking a step backward across the floor. He looks kingly, even without a crown. More kingly than I ever could. Envy ripples through me again.

“You and I both know you don’t believe that,” I snap. “Do you, Brother? Do you truly think you are without any blame?”

Cal drops his eyes, his resolve wavering for a second. Then he grits his teeth, all fire again. “It was your mother, Maven. Not me,” he forces out. I get the sense he’s told himself this more than once. “I didn’t kill him.”

I wave a hand through the air, dismissive. “Oh, I hardly care about what happened to Father. Though I’m certain you’ll be haunted by that for the rest of your life, however short.”

Again, he looks away. You are so easy to read it’s almost infuriating, I think.

“I’m talking about me,” I growl, setting the pieces in motion. Confusion steals across his face, and I almost roll my eyes. Cal has to be led to the point like a dumb mule to water.

Cut for cut, Mother whispers.

“I wasn’t always this way, was I?” I continue, pushing myself to my feet. He’s taller than me, always has been, and it stings. Still, I take a step toward him, eagerly moving into his shadow. I’m used to it there. “You remember better than I do. When I was a boy, your little brother. Always trailing at your heels, eager to spend every moment I could with you. I used to ask to sleep in your room, didn’t I?”

Cal narrows his eyes. “You were afraid of the dark.”

“And then I wasn’t. Just like that.” I snap my fingers, expecting him to flinch. He does not. “Her doing, of course. She couldn’t be the mother to a whimpering, weakling son afraid of shadows.” I begin to pace, circling him. Cal doesn’t give me the satisfaction of movement, staying rooted to the spot. He doesn’t fear a physical attack from me. Even without his flame, he would have no issue subduing me. I’m little more than a moth fluttering around light. Or at least, that’s how he sees me. It’s an advantage I’ve used so many times. “You never noticed when she took things from me, small pieces. You didn’t see the change.”

As I pass behind him, his shoulders curl, riddled with tension. “That isn’t my fault, Maven,” he whispers, his voice ragged. He doesn’t believe it. So fucking easy to read. I almost laugh. It isn’t difficult to make him bleed.

“So when she cut you out entirely, took my love for you, twisted everything—you didn’t notice. You didn’t care.” I pause in my steps, leaving us side by side. He has to turn his head to look at me, to watch as I school my face into careful blankness. “I’ve always wondered why.”

Cal has no answer, or can’t find the strength to speak. I’m better at pain than he is. I always have been.

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