A/N: Dear reader,
I cannot reply to guest reviews on FFN, but I wanted to say thank you to everybody for your feedback! Alina, I found your comment very funny and sweet. I hope you all have a good day, and hope you enjoy this update. As always, AO3 is a chapter ahead because I consider that the 'definitive version', and additionally, I can reply to guest comments! I love talking about Knightfall, so feel free to hit me up. (:
Yours,
Seraphina
It was always cold. Cold permeated the nose, the eye, the breath, the ears, the exposed skin, the lungs, the air; it seeped into every corner and made itself a farce of a home. There was no fire to ward it off. The thickly glazed windows only did so much for insulation. The glass let in roars and distant echoes of monsters with no sense, whose only instinct was to make noise for the sake of noise, bereft of any true existence. That, and the rumble of the crust of the earth, weak and poisoned. Nothing grew here. The land was dead.
Cinder would scarcely admit that the only living thing here was not her. It was him. The one who appeared in her room, and shrugged his shoulders sweetly and dumbly.
She would not admit, either, that he was the only person whom she had spoken to in weeks.
She had been bid here to guard Salem, her master, whilst she slept the long sleep. Cinder had been stupid to reveal that to Jaune. He was more calculating than he let on.
But Vacuo could wait, Salem had said. We have two of the Relics, she had said; the Crown may have eluded us, but we need not rush for Vacuo, she had said. Cinder's deathless master was confident. Salem had not been so concerned for Ruby Rose's supposed death. She had dismissed it. She had easily taken Cinder's lie that it was not she who sent Ruby to her infinite peril. Or the beach.
The beach.
Because Ruby was not dead. Cinder was not sure yet how she was going to play that particular card. At least she could still blame Neo. Then she wouldn't face that wrath. That gut-piercing silence. The stabbing in the arm and the rest of that acid, acrid pain running through her body, vein to vein, throbbing head. No, no, Cinder could avoid that.
The plans had changed, though. She could hear the distant cackle of Watts, and who else— pointing and laughing at her because she had been reduced to a guard-dog, and whatever she came up with now, it would be improvised. Improvising is not your specialty, said Watts. Voices, voices, voices. She could almost imagine it bouncing off the walls, with the Grimm howls. She wasn't sure what she liked better.
Salem didn't know. Salem was asleep. Ruby Rose yet lived, and worse still, Tyrian's clumsy handling of Vacuo was really starting to get on Cinder's nerves. Sloppy, careless; it was clear that whatever bargain he had made with his Summer Maiden vessel involved a prison break, so she had somebody useful or close enough to her to bother making such a deal with him to get them out. Such a fine chain of events. How proud he must feel, to have found a woman with desperate enough reasoning, and little understanding of the gravity of what she had agreed to.
The Maiden powers were for life. For good or ill. A Maiden had to be prepared for this. No mind for those old virtues: justice, duty, piety, loyalty. The only thing that mattered was understanding, for the rest of your life, you were bound. To what?
Cinder only had a responsibility to herself. Of keeping people away from her. The rest of it could burn. It was all rotten from the inside. Cinder knew the Huntsman academies were for naught. An invented threat. The Grimm were only as restless as their master.
Cinder had been hurt once. She would never hurt again. If she had to hurt, then it would be a pain that counted. It meant something. What it meant wasn't yet clear to her. But it would be. She had been so, so sure.
Until him.
He stood there, fussing with an unseen mirror. His fair hair, flaxen-like, soft to the touch— if she touched, she was sure it would be soft— brushed against his shoulders as he ran his fingers through it. He didn't have a hairbrush.
Cinder went over to her vanity, black mahogany varnish reflecting purple light. She pulled from the drawer a hog-haired brush, decorated with a swirling mix of roses and irises in silver. She came up beside him and held it out, a little hesitant, cautious not to let their hands meet.
"Stop using your fingers," she said.
"Oh." He took it carefully. "Thank you."
She went to her own mirror, swept half of her hair up and tied it. It felt odd, readying herself beside him. It felt close to something she didn't know how to name, like looking at a stranger's house with a fire in the hearth, a nameless family huddling beside the warmth. Then moving on. Finding the next house, with another family again, laughing and making dinner. Then again. Then Beacon, with people in the corridor talking their talk, whole lives she would never, ever live.
She did not understand it.
To distract herself, she said, "You mentioned a debriefing?"
"Yeah, Theodore left it until morning." A passing emotion clouded his expression. His dark, dark eyes flit down. How were they so blue? He added, "I guess I don't need to pretend Theodore actually wants his job. You probably already know."
Cinder exaggerated a slow shrug. "Why, I don't know. We're always a step ahead, aren't we?" The truth was, she had no idea.
He looked away from her and said nothing.
In the brief, still silence, she said, "You know Salem sleeps. I think we'd call it fair."
"Fair," he said, and then a strangled sort of scoff came out. "Are you still keeping score?"
"As ever."
He shook his head. His hair brushed in his eyes, just a little. Where he was, kept secret and safe in Shade Academy, the sunlight streamed through and made him preternaturally bright. Somehow it mixed with the dreary pallor of her room in the tower, and made him real, real but too bright. It was like her mind filled in the gaps, fit him where he could. Like seeing a figure out of the corner of her eye. Like divining reason where there was none.
Still, he eluded her.
She was hoping he would not mention that she had cried in bed. She was trying to pretend it hadn't happened.
The Summer Maiden could distract her. The Summer Maiden was a third party with apparently neither his or her interest in mind. There was the matter that the other powers could be in hunt. Jaune seemed to think so, at least, but only somebody like Cinder would commit to such a task. It demanded a special type of desperation.
She was jealous of him, his coming and going. He could leave freely. He was free because of her. She was stuck here, locked up in Evernight. Yet the plans had changed.
Cinder wanted to leave.
He knew where Evernight was, if he were aware enough to trace their journey from here to Vacuo. He would not be so foolish as to assault the place, though. If he had met Salem, he had figured out her deathlessness. They would gain nothing sieging the place. Her master's paranoia was misplaced. There was little chance they would survive breaking through the castle, past all the Grimm, if they really wanted the Relics.
Tyrian was the wrong one to send. Mercury too. He had been promoted. He had left Cinder. Left her, just like Emerald, Emerald who was now free.
Cinder gripped her hands in fists. Jaune had turned to her, watching her measuredly. He said, "Are you okay?"
What a facile question. "Yes," she growled, and walked away. She tore off her pyjamas. First she put on the pantyhose, then the loose cotton shift, which stopped at the tops of her thighs. The bodice top, that midnight blue she had found herself attached to. The skirt. Long on one side, short on the other. Uneven. The silver armour covering the monstrous growth. Raven had called her a monster for it, as if Cinder didn't already know. The boots, then, reaching up her thighs. Then she would be ready. She would be wearing the thing between her and the rest of the world.
By the time she was done and only fiddling with the fastening on her armoured, monstrous arm, she noticed him fidgeting. She continued to adjust the cover over her right forearm. She caught just the briefest glimpse of the roundness of Jaune's cheek tinged with red. A demure lowering of his head. Like hiding a blush. She did not know what for.
"Well? Are you leaving now?"
He could always go. He said, "I guess I should." He looked unsure of himself. She surveyed him. Still wearing those clothes she had given him. The black fit him strangely well. He probably hadn't done laundry. She found that vaguely amusing. Though Aura had its own strange cleansing properties of dirt and grime, that seawater stench had stuck to him. Salt and brine. He was like some sort of washed up creature. The way she had found him, it was certainly apt. Broken and beached.
He looked a little better now, if she had to say. Of course, most of his grief was her fault. She only pretended not to remember. It had made him so angry, and yes, she had seen his anger. She could recognise that well.
It was with an unusual interest that she tracked him. Maybe because he was the light in the dark. Her room was lonely. She had grown sick of it. Night never turned, and she relived the same moment over and over again.
She had decided what she was going to do. Salem slept, and the game had changed, and Jaune was alive, and bound to her. Ruby, too, of course. But him, always him. With that half-smile he would give himself, when his gaze dropped to the ground, either in bashfulness or hiding anger. The sweep of his eyelashes. Blond, golden in the right light. A patterned mosaic of sunlight swept across his face, surely the work of a well-wrought window. Cinder had to stop looking at him. It did her no good. Still, she noticed the deep shadows under his eyes.
"Didn't you sleep?" she found herself asking.
He looked up, at that, some forgotten thought leaving an etching of confusion. "No, no, not really."
"You must have been frightened for your life. I might've stabbed you in your sleep, or something petty like that. Maybe suffocated you with a pillow."
He tilted his head at her. "You can't kill me. And I think I stopped being scared of you a while ago."
"Scared?" she repeated. "You never had the sense to be frightened of me."
He had the audacity to huff something which was almost a giggle.
"How are you laughing," she said flatly.
"I'm not laughing at you. It's just, aren't I supposed to be scared of you? Doesn't that mean my survival instinct is… underdeveloped?"
"Yes, but you wanted to die. If anything, you threw yourself at me in Haven."
She knew how that sounded. She turned her back to him. She would not look. She realised that she felt vaguely like a child, as if the problem would disappear if she couldn't see it. She really hoped he wouldn't pull more of that emotional earnesty. Or pick up on the— come on. Cinder knew how to manipulate people, and she had worn that mask long enough. But he undid her. She couldn't put it on. Not now.
She did not like that.
Besides, she had a job to do. Reason to leave. Reason to keep running.
She bit the bullet and turned around to catch him staring at her. Unbelieving, eyes squinted. Suspicious. That mouth pursed. She said, "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Nothing. I'd better go."
He was always going. She'd get used to it. He would come back anyway, inevitably. Appear to her like an apparition nobody would see. But there was nobody else around to see her talking to thin air. He was her own madness.
He was impossible for her to understand. She would figure it out. Like everything else, it would be clear to her soon. It all meant something. She just wasn't sure what yet.
Now she had something to do. It would not be one of her best plans. It would require a sound mind, and swift feet, not a clever tongue or a bargain. She tried to leave, before she realised she had forgotten her mask. He had seen her without it. He had not recoiled, had, in fact, given her the most confusing of reactions. Left her lying there. Had not looked away. Then something illegible had passed his expression, like longing, but she didn't know what for. Cinder was used to longing.
Today, she did not wait for him to leave. Today, she left first. Her footsteps reverberated a lonely click-click on the black stone floor, beating off the bloodstained walls. They looked it, anyway. Cinder wasn't so sure if anybody had actually been killed here. There was no one around, though, not even the dead. No lonely filter of a hushed conversation, or Tyrian's far-off, piercing laugh, Watts' murmuring to himself. It had not been comforting. Cinder hated it. She welcomed the silence. Worse, she welcomed when Jaune would talk.
She had always wondered why it was dark here. The moon, hidden. The sun completely unseen. The only time she saw sunlight here was his intrusion. It must have been the work of Salem, and her silk web-spun magic, the cloudy darkness she juggled in her black-veined hands like a marble ball parlour trick at a sideshow. Salem shunned the light, hated it. She had found Cinder's lamp in her room once and smashed it. Cinder learnt to use candles. Salem would tolerate the slow-burn melting the wax. The fire, weak enough not to annoy her.
Cinder loved fire.
It burnt. It warmed. It cleansed. It looked like its own magic, before she knew magic. How fire danced, licked and ate everything in its way until it petered out and then would burn again. She hated being cold, and hated Atlas, most of all, for its snowy and indifferent climate. Without heat you were as good as dead, there. Numb, otherwise. Cold leeched into your bones and refused to leave, scarring itself through tissue. Fire, though. Put some wood together and enough friction and you didn't need anything else, just to be warm. Fire at the beginning of the world, fire at the end of the world.
Her master did not share her sentiment.
"Do you think yourself clever?"
Cinder bowed. Cinder did not look up.
"Answer me. Do you think yourself clever, wicked? What was the purpose of burning the crop other than annihilation?"
"It was diseased—"
"No. Answer the question."
Cinder did not like the cracks in the stone. She traced their patterns, knew it was bad luck if she touched one, knew she was pressing against most of them. She tried to focus on her response as panic shot through her like a bullet, no Aura, pure fear. "I don't think I'm clever."
"Ah, you don't? That's fascinating. Because the show you left behind in those fields across Anima proclaims otherwise. In fact, it's all over the broadcasts. They came up with some pithy titles, of course: Hell on Remnant, which I found amusing. If Hell is anywhere it's here. But they don't know who did it. So if you're not clever— allow me to assume you're not wicked, either— why did you do it, young Cinder?"
Her breath came out short. She had to navigate this carefully. Surely Salem would understand. She, herself, may have little concern for death, had seen the turn of time, but a farmer's almanac cared not for much except drought and disease, the turning of the seasons.
"I merely—"
"Merely?"
Cinder tried again. Her hands shook. Her neck ached. "From the edge of West Mistral, the fertile valley of Sinistrati had experienced pestilence and disease. There was talk of moving, leaving altogether. The council refused to—"
"Tell me, is this relevant?"
"Yes."
"Keep going."
She had lost her footing. "The farmers were putting together a protest. The council refused to fund them their treatment or removal, not when the Vale fruitrot had come in—" She looked up briefly, saw how bored Salem was, pitch-black eyes flat. It didn't matter what Cinder said. What was coming was coming. "So I burnt it. I burnt all the crop, from the high valley to the lowest swamp. It was beautiful. They had their land back."
"That was what you cared for, of course. The land. Not the pyromania of a silly little girl."
"I'm not a little girl," Cinder snapped. Salem's magic hurt. It was swift and cruel. Cinder would not forget that. The pain.
"A little girl playing with a match. Or rather, Dust. Dust is so fascinating… I truly don't understand it— you know better than I do. Yes, your Dust-filled little head must have wanted to watch it all burn. Fire is so pedestrian. We are only left with ash."
She didn't know the purpose of this detour. She would find out.
"I do admire how you use it, how you make do with it. Such endurance. You know fire was stolen? Or so they say. It was the first thing ever wanted, and the first thing ever taken without asking. Silly, silly gods, those ones. I pay not much mind to them. Tell me, Cinder. What do you love about fire?"
"It's warm," she said. "It's beautiful."
Salem laughed. It rung out like a church bell. "Beauty? Beauty is a cold comfort. Yes, let's feast off pearls and diamonds, sleep with silk sheets on a bed made of nails. What is beautiful in this world? There is no beauty. But you think fire beautiful?"
"Yes," Cinder said, cautious.
"Why?"
"I like… how it looks. There's nothing like it. Eating the air…" Cinder tried not to gulp. Salem was trying to embarrass her now.
"What else do you find beautiful in this world, Cinder? I would like to know."
Her hands had still not stopped shaking. Maybe she had avoided punishment. Just a little, for talking back, of course. She said, "Fine clothes, dresses and shoes. Jewellery. A well-made sword. Sunrises, sunsets, when night falls…" Cinder placed a steadying hand on the ground in front of her. "The sea."
"And the sea, what is so special about the sea? Do you know how to swim?"
"No," she said. She swallowed. "The sea is like fire. The moon pulls on the sea. The sun pulls on fire. And… the waves are chaotic."
"What a poet you make, Cinder. Perhaps in another life you might have been a great writer. You must content yourself with what you have been given, though. I suppose that's why you burnt the crop. You are loose and wild, like many of the women and men I once knew... who spent time contemplating this ruinous world."
"Who were they?"
"People with delusions of philosophy," said Salem. "Of beauty. They're all dead now. What good was anything they believed? Here I am, deathless. Ugly, too, wouldn't you say?"
"Of course not," Cinder quickly said.
"Do you know what made me ugly, Cinder?"
"You are not ugly."
"We know that we must never lie to one another. No, Cinder, I am ugly because the only thing which survives in this world is the thing that is unwanted."
Cinder would be spared. Salem was feeling philosophical. When she spoke like this, Cinder had begun to understand it would be a calm day. She would not be in trouble. She knew these patterns, and was thankful for Salem. Back… back then, it was pain every day. Here, it abated. It was fair. She was only punished when she deserved it.
"But you like beautiful things," Salem mused. "How young you are. How can I hold that against you? You want to watch things burn for the pure beauty of it. Yes, you may speak of farmers and their pastoral concerns, but let us be honest. You went mad with what I've given you and you wanted to watch it burn. I tolerate self-interest. I do not tolerate frivolity."
Cinder prepared herself.
Salem was always just. When she punished Cinder, it was only ever equal to what she had done. It didn't even last particularly long, and she would give Cinder breaks. The magic was oil-slick and ran through her body like water mixed with fat, polluting her like a spill in the ocean. It hurt. She was used to this. It hurt. The screams came out, one by one, freeing her momentarily from the sensation. Piercing the air.
It stopped, but she barely noticed.
"I expect better from you," Salem said, "when I send you out to travel, and learn. Now you are growing under my care. Rearing a teenager is difficult, they always say. I expect just a bit of rebellion. For that, you may have the afternoon off."
"Thank you," Cinder broke out, breathless. She had the rest of the day free to herself. She would go to her room, which Salem had given her when she first came here. It was all hers, a bedroom with big windows, even if Evernight were always in perpetual darkness. She had a queen-sized bed— queen!— with floral-patterned sheets, and a silk pillowcase, and even an old treadle sewing machine Salem had procured for her. She could make all the clothes she wanted, wear a different outfit for every day of the week. She could content herself in her room, a space all for herself, even if she wished she had a light to make it bright.
The dank space she lived in, back at the— at the place she had stayed at, when she was ten, until only recently— it was nothing compared to this. She slept on the floor, there, and shivered her way through the winter until her back seized for any movement she made. She ate leftovers. She waited for Madame or one of the girls to burst in her room at any moment through the late night and early morning to tell her off for something she hadn't even known she'd done.
Salem was just. She had a room, she had responsibility, and she understood what Salem wanted and what Salem did when she was disappointed.
Salem did not love fire the way Cinder loved fire.
Cinder knew better.
The passage down to the belly of the fortress was not littered with traps, but it was with Grimm, all exacting and all demanding. There was no secret switch to hit. Only Grimm, guarding door after door, would sniff her and let her pass. Sphinxes and great gorillas. Their gaze flat. They let her through because of her arm. The malformed thing. It was what ferried her through. It was payment.
It was payment for a debt she had not known the exact ramifications of.
She went on. There was not even the anaemic light of the top of Evernight here, like the meeting hall. Salem loved her meeting hall, the performance of it, her slow and dramatic entry. If Salem loved anything, she loved to put on a play.
Sometimes Cinder could see the actress in her, the one who knew the lines and how to say them. The one who had heard that refrain before, like a poorly put on theatre, a show which had run its season a few too many times. Cinder wondered what that was like, to even be bored of conquering the world. That must have been, partly, why she slept; Atlas had exhausted her, yes, they had spent a long time putting together the scene. But she wondered if Salem grew bored and retired.
When she came to Salem's bedroom, she passed the Seer. The Seer would know everything. The Seer saw all, and gave its eyes to Salem. So Cinder had to kill it.
She let the Maiden power course through her like a warm drink on a cold day, summoned a burning dagger, and cracked the Seer's skull. It broke like bone, but inside it was no brain to unfold. Its putrid, slick liquid dripped out, like blood, but it carried no life. Not even any redemption through a pretty destruction. No. It was filthy, fetid. Some of it splattered and stained her flesh hand, and she had to summon fire to burn it off.
The Seer disappeared into the aether. Cinder went on.
Salem slept. Her bed was plain, meant only for a single person. The room was blackened. She barely breathed or moved in her sleep. On the marble floor rested the Relics. Those Relics which Cinder had snatched away once, from the children. Now at Salem's feet as if she had taken them herself.
Cinder had been there first. It was only right she take them again now. She needed the Staff, could probably do without the Lamp, but if she were really going through with this, she may as well commit herself entirely.
She would put them back anyway.
She tread carefully into the room, one silent step after another. The lightness of air carried her feet, so each footstep had its noise deadened. She summoned no fire to see, the blue clear in the dark. The blue.
Her favourite colour was blue.
Blue skies, flying high in the air. Blue at twilight, night falling quietly, without notice, sleepily. The blues in the sea, the tranquil dark blue, the tropical turquoise— almost green. The blue in a lagoon. The slim blue wings of those butterflies she had seen once in Anima. The blue of her brooch. The blue of sapphire.
Her next favourite colour was yellow.
The sun just when it crested itself over the sea's edge, shy and coy. Saffron, growing wild. Sunflowers like weeds covering valleys. The broken yellow gem of her collar, destroyed. The colour of deciduous trees when autumn finally broke free.
The Relics, gold and blue, were easy to see. That holy blue, and holy yellow. It was so easy to slip them away, to clip the Lamp to her waist, to carry the Staff like a queen with her sceptre.
It was always easy running. So Cinder, silently, without a trace, tip-toed out, not leaving her back to Salem for a second. The door closed with no noise, and she still did not let out the breath she had been holding. The Seer was gone. She knew Salem would not wake, not for a while, and besides which, Cinder had to use her own judgement.
Salem didn't know about the mess currently in Vacuo. Such knowledge which Cinder only possessed because of her Aura bond. She would figure out how to explain that later. She could lie and say Mercury told her. But Mercury answered to Salem now, and not Cinder, and how would he contact her? By letter? There wasn't any delivery service to Evernight. Pity the postman if he ever tried knocking on Salem's door.
Perhaps she had to tell Salem the truth. That Jaune had found her, drove out the Grimm curse on her soul and then, as you please, bound himself to her. The look on Salem's face, at least, would be funny, if bone-chilling. Cinder laughed before she could cry.
She had to stifle it, navigating her way back out. The Grimm paid no mind to her. They had no reasoning skills. Cinder could go by because she was like them, monstrous. They knew who she was. She was Salem's.
If Salem were awake, she would understand why Cinder had done this. Taken the Relics, anyway. Not what she was going to do next.
This is where Cinder's plan kind of fell apart. She was aware of the inherent weaknesses and the abject stupidity. But Salem wasn't around. The Summer Maiden was working with Tyrian, and the children, stupid as they were, probably didn't like that. The dim-witted headmaster of Vacuo probably didn't like that either. Tyrian was careless. Tyrian wanted to please Salem, in whatever way he could, even in weak imitation.
The children didn't like Tyrian. If anybody were going to take down Vacuo, then it would be Cinder's job, and she would do it better than him. He'd already got ahead of her in Atlas when she meant to get there early. Like hell she was going to let him get this one up on her either.
She had an ace up her sleeve, and it was an Aura-bonded Jaune Arc who was clever, who knew more than he let on, and thought he wasn't worthy.
As if.
She had been furious when he'd tried to take her on at Haven, but she recognised how he wanted to die. He knew she was good at killing. But now?
By the time she had ascended to the top of the fortress, she took a long, long breath, as if she hadn't breathed the whole time she was down there. Each gasp of breath came to her too sudden, and she had to try to stop taking in air so quickly, but it was hard. Eventually, it stopped. All pain did.
She held the Staff out, and the big, blue muscular man appeared. She was in the receiving hall. It was a room large enough to contain him.
"Oh, I'm free again! How exciting! The fire last time, well, I had an interesting discussion with— not more fire," he said, seeing her. His voice was booming. The Grimm flying outside had frozen. "You have a serious problem, you know. You should see somebody about it. Pyromania is no joke."
"No fire today," she said, sly.
"Oh, well. That's good to hear. So what do you have in mind? I've had some creative visitors, you know. How did they get on?"
Cinder furrowed her brow. "Fine enough. They went against your advice and fell. They got out."
"They what." He leant forward on his elbows, like at a sleepover party. "I told them not to fall. So what did they do? They fell!"
"I pushed them," she said sweetly. "It's alright. One of them had a mother who saved her clutch. Another I helped."
"I… see? Why did you help them?" He sighed dramatically. "Why did you push them?"
"I wanted them to die."
"Well, that's a tad morbid."
"They're in my way," Cinder said. "Ruby has those silver eyes. I don't like them."
"But you helped one of them? You must tell me why! I ask for nothing in exchange of my power, but, I must tell you, being a spirit, one does love gossip."
"It was an accident."
"An accident? And who is this person?"
"You didn't meet him."
"Tell me who he is."
"Jaune."
"Oh, oh, give me a second, hold up the Lamp…" Cinder held up the Lamp with her Grimm arm, Relic in each hand. Then the spirit Ambrosius disappeared. This was unusual. They weren't supposed to disappear.
He appeared again, rolling in the air, buoyant and laughing so hard he could not breathe. "No! No! This is incredible!"
"What is?" she demanded. "Tell me."
"Well, I'm no spirit of Knowledge, I don't need to—"
"Tell me!"
"You know, I can't tell you the last time I spoke to my friend, Jinn. It must be thousands of years. What a gift you have given me, you… pusher of children off bridges, servant of Salem, fire woman, Fall Maiden. You really are special, you know."
Cinder stepped back. "Shut up. Get with the talking."
"You and Jaune! Jinn knows everything, of course, and what a sweet little— well, I can't say too much, I can only tell you that I know exactly what happened, and you don't need to tell me. Poor boy. Pushed him against a wall. And now you talk? Oh, I wish I could know what happens next. You'll use me again, then, won't you? I mean, I think I had the most fun with the bridge—"
"Make it again."
"Um, repeat that again, please?"
"Make it again. Or something like it. They said to make a world, like the ones in the Vaults, and I want that, but I'm going to fall. To get to the place you said not to go."
"You want to specifically go where I said not to go? Are you a teenager?"
"Were you supposed to offer running commentary like this or did they make you incorrectly?"
At that, Ambrosius laughed again. "Alright, alright, so let me guess, I'm going to make the bridges for you— not the portals across Atlas, of course, just one to you here, so you step through and then you… jump off. No pathway to Vacuo necessary. Is that right?"
"Yes," she said, thankful.
"And how exactly do you plan to get out?"
"Didn't you see everything?" she sneered.
"Well, you have the Staff. You could always use me."
Cinder smirked. "I have to be going to him, anyway."
"Too clever for your own good," Ambrosius said, and hummed to himself. He floated in the air, as light as fairy floss. His hands fluttered about in the air like butterfly mating. The blue, so vivid, in the empty hall. Cinder could scarcely believe the sight.
She knew magic was real, though. She knew better. She believed it. Even better, she felt it in her body, felt its span in her Aura.
The golden portal opened itself like a mouth, a lily unfurling. It was as she remembered, retracing the old steps.
"Well, there you go. Good luck," he said. "Not that you're going to listen to my advice to not go down there. Sure, they all managed it, you'll be fine and dandy."
"I have an Aura bond," she said. "I'm safe."
"Yes, yes, you and your Aura bond, unlike anything seen in Remnant. Jinn's very excited about that. I'm not actually barred from passing on infor— oh no, I had better not mention that part. Anyway, I can say, Jinn wants to know what you decide to do next."
"She doesn't like me," Cinder said. "If you have the capacity to like your Relic users."
"Not quite that," Ambrosius said delicately. "She sees everything. She's sad."
Cinder scoffed, and slipped the Staff to her belt.
"Thanks for letting me out. The bones get creaky," he said, and disappeared into the air, not like Grimm, but like a fairy godmother, in a puff of blue smoke.
From the receiving hall she would step through the portal, and be put back to here, the place where they fell, and then came crawling out.
Nobody was here. No Atlesian or Mantle evacuees, screaming for help. No Huntsmen and Huntresses, coming to their aid when they called for it. So good. So generous. There was the distant glimmer and echo of the portals, shining and gold. It was a liminal place, a place between all things, the place which felt real and unreal at the same time, holding the memory of different worlds at once.
Cinder was going down. She was used to falling. Descent never felt any different, and she didn't need to fly, she just had to give way to gravity. She fell, sure, her knees pushing forward first through the air. She was good at this.
She landed in the ocean. Swimming involved the kick of the legs, and the arms, and she wasn't very good at it, having not much practice. She was getting there, though, as the waves tried to swallow her. She recognised that hunger. Fire would not propel her, here, but she felt oddly relaxed in the water, carrying her.
She recognised the twin suns, too. She knew those. She was in the right place, at least. Now she had to search for what she came here for.
Cinder was beginning to doubt her judgement skills a little. Steal a Relic from Salem, fall, and search on the beach for something she had seen him bury for only the briefest of moments. The gold had probably rusted by now. The palm fronds had probably dried out, dead.
But it was the principle of it.
So Cinder searched. She knew he hadn't left the shoreline, stayed close to the water, kept a fire going. She was beginning to give up until she saw ash. The remnant of fire.
Even if fire didn't do the work you needed, ash always would. Draw with it, wash your hands with it— a bitter, hard type of cleansing, just a bit of water needed—, and now, use it to find your way.
She had lit that fire for him. She remembered. It was the first time she had seen him. She did the only thing she knew she could, and that was send fire his way, burn the image of him, he who kept Penny from her. Who challenged her at Haven. Who invaded her dreams.
Cinder always had strange dreams. Nightmares, if she admitted to it. The place she had been in as a girl. The orphanage, children laughing at her. Cleaning a floor which would never be clean, a pain which never ended. She dreamt of things that hadn't happened, lives she knew she would never live. She saw Pyrrha's death before she killed her, and knew it had to happen. She saw him, just one glimpse, his eyes closed and the vision of him clear as crystal. She dreamt of her old life, and her new life.
He hadn't even gone far to bury it. It wasn't that deep, either, and it took her only a few minutes to unearth the sand and remove the armour he had shamefully buried. Like an offering to an unseen god. He didn't know this was a godless world. They wouldn't care. Salem said they, already, cared little for offerings, didn't like the chaff of wheat, or honeycomb, or the libation bowls filled with oil. They accepted them, but never enjoyed it.
They were ungrateful. Salem was right. It was better that they were gone, and the old man had to be stopped. He wanted to bring those terrible gods back.
Mean, cruel gods. The world was better off without them.
Cinder knelt in the sand. She had been to a beach, a real beach, a few times. Off the coast of Vale. She had seen Argus' coastline. Here and there, she glimpsed them. But a beach holiday, no. Paid time off was not Salem's specialty. Didn't children build sand castles, be hastened by their parents to wear sunscreen, splash in the water? She was still wet from the sea. She could take her boots off, and step into the water, barefooted and silly. But she wasn't a little girl. She didn't want things like that.
She patiently waited for her fire to dry her before she made to leave. Jaune had said the days did not pass here, and the moon did not move, nor the suns. Night and day came, but with no indication of time. How didn't he go mad? Probably because she had already driven him mad. She almost laughed. He had been here on the beach alone, and she, at Evernight, alone. A perpetually sunny place, and a perpetually dark place.
She heard the rustle in the tropical bushes and her hackles raised. Her guard had been down. Who else was here? Who had been left here?
His armour was set down to her left. She moved with her back towards the ocean, sure it would not hurt her.
Ruby and the others had travelled with Raven. Jaune with Cinder.
Cinder had pushed Neo.
Neo, the little backstabber. The one who thought she could get one over Cinder. Well, Cinder remembered exactly how useful other people could be, and she had hoped Neo liked her treatment. Taking the Lamp had displeased Salem greatly.
Cinder admitted she was somewhat of a hypocrite now.
This was just like the bar. Why was Neo always such a pain?
"Come out, come out, wherever you are," she taunted. "I know you're there."
She expected hostility. Maybe a fight again. Cinder wasn't sure. She knew Neo wasn't dead, and it annoyed her. Why was she still around?
Neo, though, came out diminutive, uncertain. Her once-pretty and delicate clothes looked worn, something written on her face which looked tired.
Cinder wasn't tired. She slept well last night.
"Why are you still down here?" Cinder demanded. Neo tilted her head. "You fell. I know the others fell and they left. Why didn't you go with them?"
She expected Neo to shrug. She moved closer, and dug through her pocket to pull out her Scroll. Neo's battery was probably dead. Not a charging station to be seen. At least they had those in Evernight. "Here." She passed it to her.
She wasn't going to try killing her again. At least not now. Not when she knew sometimes you had to talk a little before you went for revenge.
Cinder did not expect so few words on a Scroll to be so devastating. By the time Neo had passed it back, it said: I forgave Ruby, and she forgave me.
Cinder nearly cracked it. How infuriating. Forgiveness. As if anybody needed or cared about that. What good did it do? It brought nobody back, did not unwrite wrongs. It was no balm to a wound which never healed. Cinder was all wound.
"So you don't want to kill her?" Cinder said.
Neo rolled her eyes.
"After everything she did to you? She took Roman from you. Doesn't that anger you?"
Neo gestured for the Scroll. When it came back, it said, It won't bring him back.
Cinder huffed. "It's not about bringing him back. It's about satiating that anger. Don't you remember it? It's the only thing which keeps us going. It's the only thing that matters."
You pushed me. You could have helped me up.
"You STOLE THE LAMP!" she yelled. "You betrayed me! We were supposed to kill Ruby and you betrayed me! Just like everybody else, everybody else who leaves. I trust nob— I don't trust you. And for a minute I thought you'd do what I tell you to do."
Neo sighed and began to walk off. Like Cinder's anger didn't matter. Like none of this mattered. It all mattered. It all meant something.
"What are you, a zen monk? Don't you want to fight me?"
Two Relics at her waist, two swords in hand, distant echoes of Midnight. The swords she was too afraid to use. Now, these, molten in her hands, summoned from the air, would do well to fight Neo. No, no going easy on her. Neo was good, but she wasn't good like Cinder.
Not Cinder now she knew the Fall Maiden power better, had learnt from Raven, who was clever, and watched her back. Winter and Penny, who worked together like they would have made a good team in another life. Team RWBY, with the last Schnee standing, trying her best to stop mean old Cinder Fall from ruining their perfectly hatched heroic plans.
Cinder ignored the rumbling in the distance. She leapt for Neo, and met her parasol. Her swords broke. She made more. Hit for hit, Neo met her, a twisted snake type of routine, almost practised. Neo looked bored.
Cinder was so done with her. Find her, side with her, betray her; but look at her like that, like the way Salem looked when Cinder had poor excuses for her behaviour? That undid her. She was all kicks and fury, and then she called on flame to burn the lace, to burn away Neo, to make it better.
The rumbling grew louder. No mind. Swipe and bow, swipe and bow; two feet this way and two feet back, two feet forward and then wind around, then Neo touched her toes and danced back, and Cinder danced forward, deadly and set on cutting her to pieces, if she couldn't kill Ruby, if she could kill the idea of forgiveness.
But she stopped when she saw the look of shock on Neo's face, faltered, and fell forwards into the sand. She turned. Watched her back.
The waves crashed. What could only be described as a dragon flew over the horizon of the island, from the central tree, blossoming with colour. Cinder was lying flat on her back, elbows digging into the ground which Jaune had slept on for weeks. It was uncomfortable.
The voice which bellowed out ran through her gut and scared her to her core. Where she felt him, where she felt him inside of her, that little bubble of protection in her chest. She did not like that the sound penetrated her there. That was where he was. Nothing else. Only him.
"I SENSE MY MAGIC?" it said inside her.
The ground shook. The branches of the palms billowed in a false wind. Neo looked at her in panic, both of them unsure as to what to do. Everything narrowed.
Jaune had not seen this, she was sure. He would have mentioned it. He didn't ever stop talking. Not that she wanted him to stop.
"YOU USE MY MAGIC IN THIS PLACE THAT YOU MUST NEVER TREAD," again it said. "HOW DID MY MAGIC ENDURE? HOW DID YOU STEAL IT? HOW DO YOU USE IT, LITTLE BEAST? IGNORANT, PETTY CREATURE. I WILL DEVOUR YOU. I WILL EAT YOU, BONE TO BONE TO MEASLY BRAIN, THE SHRINE TO YOUR TINY, PATHETIC THOUGHTS, YOUR PUERILE EXISTENCE."
Neo grabbed onto her shoulder. Cinder let her. The dragon was coming closer, now. Its scales layered in infinite rings, its horns sharp, its wings broad, its air, menacing. The sky rumbled black. She wanted the blue back. She wanted to look up and see it.
Cinder's hand shook. She could barely steady it enough to reach to her waist, not while her mind was pure panic. But she did. She had practice with Salem, every day, every day since she was fifteen; she knew this. She could do this.
All of that pain meant something. She could think through panic, could figure out a plan at the last second, even if she fell and it all went to ruins.
She held out the Staff in her right hand, and the Lamp in the second, and summoned Ambrosius at the same time as she called, anxiously, loudly, high and scared, "Jinn!"
Neo beside her was still panicked, searching curiously. Cinder was heaving in great gasps, as if she had been stabbed. She forgot about wanting to kill Neo for now. There was a massive dragon trying to kill them instead. Who claimed her power as his.
"I'm all out of questions, you know," Jinn said, in that delicate, light and feminine voice. "And I promised you that I couldn't do this again— oh. It's you."
"It's me," Cinder gritted out.
The world had paused. As she had hoped. They just needed a little more time. The waves were still, the clouds motionless, the wind dead.
"I told Ruby I couldn't help her do this again, but I suppose you don't know that, do you?" said Jinn.
"Oh, but she's the feisty one," Ambrosius said companionably. He put a hand on Jinn's large shoulder. "Well, as feisty as Ruby. Ruby's such a little cheat."
"I know. She used me with the leviathan. In Argus."
"Clever, too. I admire the creativity."
"Hm, I do like her," Jinn mused.
"Shut up about Ruby," Cinder said.
"And what, pray tell, do you want us to do now?" said Ambrosius. "You know, she's all out of questions, but me— I'm unlimited. Though knowledge is as unlimited as creativity. Not sure why they stifled you with only three, Jinn. What a waste."
"It's quite boring, but as it happens, we have… some inventive friends here," Jinn said. "I've never been let out of the Lamp so much."
"Gets so stiff."
"Oh, I know. It's nice to stretch." At that, both of them shared a laugh, stretched their arms as if at a spa instead of a beach where a dragon stood poised in the air, frozen as ice.
"If you'll excuse me," Cinder said, "I was just covering all my bases. Who knew if Ambrosius felt like being lazy and didn't come out. As you can see, we have a slight problem."
"Oh, him," Jinn said, scorn tainting her tone. She grimaced. Cinder wondered why Ambrosius and Jinn didn't wear clothes. Their bodies were just all out there. It was indecent. But Cinder had better things to pay mind to.
"Portal?" Ambrosius said expectantly. Cinder turned to Neo. She sighed. Jaune wasn't going to be able to help her now, and she could leave Neo here, but Neo would probably object.
Neo wrote in the scroll, Send me to Vale and I'll do whatever you want me to do. Just don't kill me.
"Why shouldn't I kill you?"
Jinn and Ambrosius laughed. They watched the interaction with measured interest.
Because I don't think you can, down here. I'll go to Vale and be out of your hair.
"Why didn't you leave with them? When Raven came?"
How do you know about that? Cinder raised a brow. Neo kept typing, Because Roman was here. I wanted to stay with him. But there's nothing down here except for him, and I can't— Cinder watched her pause and backspace. She finished it with, I have to let him go.
Jaune would let her go. Cinder knew this. He even let Cinder go. He helped Cinder. No good deed went unpunished.
Cinder sighed. She turned to Ambrosius, ignored Jinn's penetrating, owl-eyed gaze, said, "Another portal. To Vale. On the border of the city. Use the Vault realms. Neo, grab that armour on the ground. Please," she said, and then added, when she saw Neo's scowl.
Neo picked it up and hoisted the disparate parts under her armpits.
"You'll come up with something better next, yes? No more portals?" said Ambrosius.
"Maybe a train set," Cinder said, dry. "A playground. Or a beach house."
Ambrosius laughed, as if she weren't being sarcastic. "Well, then. You and your friend are free to leave through this portal. I'm quite happy to help you, as it happens. Jinn, my dearest, you must tell me how the Lamp is."
"Dark," said Jinn. "Little to do. I like what they all get up to. It's quite fun."
"It is, isn't it. This one here burnt Atlas. We had a whole philosophical conversation about the creative properties of fire. She was very determined."
"Hm, and to think she wasted my last question with such a boring inquiry."
"I needed it to win," Cinder muttered.
"You would've managed without it." Jinn laughed. She hadn't heard her laugh before, bright and bigger than life, like sunlight on bluebells. "Not that I'm in charge of the Relic of Choice. But you underestimated yourself, Fall Maiden. Guardian of Choice."
Cinder paid no mind to the spirit of Knowledge. She was wrong. Cinder had failed, and failed, and failed, and she needed the Relic. Watts had been right, on the rooftop. She was little more than a migraine, a pain in somebody's head. A pain in Jaune's side, the ever-present sentinel, the architect of his defeat.
Neo curtsied to the spirits. Cinder almost laughed. She did everything with such a heedless grace.
"Now, you have approximately… twenty two seconds before we disappear, and that," Jinn said, pointing with a sure finger, "finds you."
"What will happen when it does?"
Jinn looked to Ambrosius. He said, "Something we've never seen before."
Cinder didn't like the sound of that. She ushered Neo through the portal first, not letting her walk behind her. It was one of their useless truces again. So much for Jaune pulling her from the beach, like she did him. She was going to see Vale again.
Ambrosius and Jinn disappeared, and Cinder righted them to her waist. They went through. The portal was open behind them, and in front, one of Vale's forests greeted them, covered in bright, midday light. She used the Staff again.
"Close the portal," she bit out.
Ambrosius hummed. "You have to make something else."
"Okay. Fine. Make… a dress," Cinder said. She had to give him specific dimensions. She listed out her measurements which she could remember, and specified the cut. A sweeping neckline, a loose waist, a billowing skirt. Make it dusty blue. Make it the blue of the edge of the horizon, where it was painted dimmest. That was what she asked for.
She held the dress in her arms for the briefest of moments. The finest silk. She didn't even notice Ambrosius disappear. It was so beautiful. He had as much a seamstress' eye as an architect's. She wondered when she would ever wear a dress like this. No balls to go to, no weddings— never a wedding, not for someone like her— no parties. It was a dress without purpose.
She threw it to the ground and let the earth muddy it.
"I'm letting you go," she said, in the forest quiet. Birds tittered.
Neo hovered beside her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Neo point to her chest. Me?
"Before I change my mind." She refused to look at Neo. She could only look at the dress. It was going to be ruined. She stood on it, trampled it with her foot. It was so beautiful, and she would never have it. She hated it. She hated it and she wanted to burn it. "GO!" she shouted. "You can go. You can find your own way somewhere. Me? Where do I get to go? Salem's. Salem's. No. But you're free. I've let you go. Today, I am judicious. GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!"
Neo turned, hesitantly, face scared, picked a random direction and didn't look back. The only thing Cinder was left with was the anger burning inside of her, ashes in her stomach. She sank to her knees. Beside the dress was Jaune's armour, where Neo had left it. The white was unstained. The gold, untainted. The dress, destroyed where she had stepped on it.
She had always liked Vale. She found it ironic she had to infiltrate the school, walk the streets of the city like she belonged there. Distantly, she wished she had. Anima reminded her too much of her childhood. Atlas was rotten and she wanted to burn it. So she had burnt it. She had never been to Vacuo.
Vale was the golden mean, the place she pretended she lived a life. Like she ever would. The only thing that mattered was being safe. Only the Maiden powers mattered. Nothing else did.
She wasn't sure where to go next, or what to do. She had always known, but this next part of her plan she felt embarrassed about. It seemed so good on paper, and for what? Because he had wanted his armour back? Because he was so sad, and he felt so unworthy? Because she had not liked his head tilted, heart hurt?
She had delighted in his pain, once. This was foolish. Cinder was a stupid girl. She wouldn't cry. Not again.
He would be too busy. He had better things to do. Just because he spoke to her sometimes, it didn't mean he didn't have other things in his life. His friends. His team. All of Vacuo to content himself with. The mission to stop Salem. Whatever Ruby demanded of him. Hobbies. She didn't know what he liked doing in his spare time. Like he would tell her. Like she wanted to know.
Cinder would simply fly to Evernight, leave the armour behind, and forget about it. She had encountered the great dragon. She had let Neo free. Her day was ruined. She had ruined it. She would go back to Salem's, and place the Relics at her feet, go back to her room, crawl into bed, and accept that she had failed once again.
She had failed at Beacon, Ruby burning her with her eyes. She had failed at Haven, falling into the abyss. She had failed seeking the Winter Maiden powers, the arm cut off for good measure. She had barely won taking the two Relics, the Winter Maiden once again out of her grasp. What good was she for?
She lit a fire, and sat there and watched it flicker in her hand. She burnt the dress. Fire ate it. It was better this way. It was purposeless.
The birds sang out a sweet song, and she heard the distant sound of insects gurgling. The trees were old, old with thick trunks, and thicker yet branches, big enough to build a tree house in. Cinder could stay here and never leave.
Vale was not her home.
Cinder had no home. She would never have a home to return to, to open a front door and feel safe, to find a kitchen warm and dinner ready.
She waited, and waited, and did nothing. She did not get up. She did not fly away. She pitied herself, and acknowledged her loss, did not turn her face away from it.
She watched the sky darken again, and her chest hurt. Like a stabbing pain in her sternum. Like acid rearing up through her oesophagus. It did not matter how beautiful she found it. She could not bottle that colour up and keep it all to herself. The night would pass. Tomorrow would come and she would be alone.
She thought so, anyway. She was convinced. She laughed to herself, half-cry and half-laugh, when he appeared beside her. He immediately approached and crouched beside her. What a wretched vision she must have been, flame snuffed out in hand, self-pitying gaze, sitting in the dirt.
"What happened?" he asked.
Where to even begin. She couldn't look at him.
"Are you okay?"
"That's a stupid question," she snapped. She was never okay. She survived.
"Yeah, alright, I still want to know. Even if you think it's stupid," he continued, as if she had not just bitten his head off.
An unpredictable Fall Maiden was a problem, though. Jaune must have needed to ascertain her mental strength. If she had decided to do anything rash. If she would be a problem. That was necessary to track. He must have found her docile, knowing she was stowed away in Evernight. His only concern was Tyrian's sophomoric machinations. The Summer Maiden, well, she was trouble, and maybe trouble because they hardly knew her. But compared to the Fall Maiden, she was easy pickings. Never trust a Fall Maiden. She always came in last when you least expected it.
"Cinder," he said. His voice was rough and sweet. She liked the sound of it. She wanted him to say her name again. She had heard her name pronounced in other tongues, demanding, angry, punishing, begging, pleading, expectant. She had never heard it said like that. He said her name again, "Cinder," and she wanted it a third time. Always more, with her. Never enough. Greedy.
Her eyelids fluttered as she turned to him. "I may have made a mistake."
"What did you do?"
How he wheedled his way in. Visiting her each day. Talking and talking and talking, never letting the silence fill, not unless she rolled on her side in bed and wept. Making her break loose from Evernight, just for the pursuit of his armour.
A better question was what did he do. Why did he help her. Why did he look at her like that. Why was it him. She had demanded and the only answer she got it's because of who he was. It was her he found in that alcove, reached in, did not let go, did not look away, saw the pain and then peeked into that bit inside her, her heart, which went thud-thud, sometimes missing a beat, singing along to the wrong tune.
She reached across for the chestplate from his set of armour and held it out with both of her hands, flesh and Grimm. She did not think about the Grimm which had embedded itself, once, in her right arm, when she had proudly and monstrously taken Amber's power. No. For now, she only thought of what she offered him.
The look on his face, at least, was worth it. It was soft and a little awe-inspired, shocked. It made her feel as if it were not for naught, the unbidden quest she had sent herself on.
"My armour?" he said, quiet as anything. He reached across and received it, delicately, reverently, and placed it beside him, vanishing it from Cinder's vision as he lost contact with it. She passed over the pauldrons, then, bracers and gloves. He took them one by one.
"You said you weren't worthy. It's obvious you are," she said. "And I can't see how you can hunt Tyrian without something protecting you. If you're injured, it might cause me terrible trouble."
"Why would you want me hunting Tyrian?"
"I hope he rolls over and dies," she said blandly. A laugh broke out of him, slightly guilty, but he was still taken with the armour, and then he switched his gaze to her. That blue.
It was completely merciless. It was worse than being stabbed. It was worse, because his eyes were kind, and she did not want to move out of sight.
"Well, in that case," he said. "But how did you get it?" Then his sight dipped to her waist. His eyes widened.
The Relics were the prize, after all.
"Did you use the Staff to go— to the beach? Seriously?"
"Yes," she said.
"To get my armour."
"Yes."
"For me."
"Yes," she repeated again. "What part are you struggling to understand?"
His mouth was hanging open.
"You better close that. A fly might land in your mouth."
He shook his head. "What did you do?"
"I stole the Relics back from Salem, I went to the beach, I saw a dragon, I got rid of Neo, and now I'm in the middle of Vale," she spat out. "All in a day."
"I don't even know where to begin with that," he muttered.
"The dragon was big," she said, pithy.
"Okay, okay, I was asking for that. Neo?"
"Stayed down there. Asked to go to Vale. I didn't kill her."
He paused. "Why didn't you kill her?"
"That part doesn't matter! I saw a dragon!"
Jaune watched her very, very carefully. "Do you know what it was?"
"No," she admitted.
"Right. Okay." He put his thumb and forefinger to his brow, his head lowered. He let out a long groan. "I'm pretty sure that was the God of Darkness."
Cinder crossed her arms. "Oh, him. Right. So you… know?"
"Know what," he repeated flatly. He was curiously avoiding her gaze. Something discomforted him.
"The Brothers. You know about them. How?"
"Guess."
"That's what you used the Lamp for," she said. "The Great and Terrible Oz didn't tell you about that little problem, did he?"
Jaune ran his hands through his hair. She couldn't tell if he were embarrassed or upset. He said, "Okay, you're in the middle of Vale, do you want me to pull you through now or wait until you've bragged about knowing of the Brothers first?"
She huffed out a short laugh. "Well, I've met one. That's more of a brag. But what do you expect me to do in Vacuo? Isn't inviting the enemy into your room not the done thing?"
"What was he like?"
"Angry. Jealous," she said. "He said my power was his."
"Sounds like a bag of laughs. Listen, here's a deal," he said, "you like those, right?"
"Yes."
He grabbed her by her forearms, and she, bizarrely, let him. "I bring you here, away from where you are in Vale, in the middle of nowhere. You find Tyrian's base. You know him best and what he'd do. You're the Fall Maiden, and you can fly. Our Winter Maiden is staying firmly here. You want to stop Tyrian, I'll help you, and I'll— help you get the Summer Maiden powers. That was what we already agreed on anyway."
He was holding onto her and she let him. His hands were big, but they were soft, with slender fingers and neat nails. There had to be a catch, but she couldn't find it.
Worst of all, she found that she trusted him. He had helped her with no expectation. There was no bargain there, not in that alcove. She did not want to tell him that she did not need a bargain from him now. That she would probably just agree to do what they were going to do anyway.
He would not help her get the Summer Maiden power, though. She knew he was lying about that, or maybe he was not even aware he was. He would not hurt another Maiden. She could see that all over him. Equally, she had no chance at securing the Winter Maiden's power. Both for her aptitude and her protection in Shade. Spring was off wherever Raven was. Summer remained the next and necessary step.
"Fine," she agreed.
His hands tightened on her for a moment, as if to secure himself to her. It was strange. She had to give herself over to him. He had to want her there.
It was nothing like flying. It happened as quickly as blinking, one moment seeing the Vale sky, the next a ceiling in Vacuo. Or she had been there the whole time, in a way, appearing to him, two places at once. She landed ungracefully on the bed.
"Well, that was a little less elegant than you were," he said from above her.
His room was sandstone plain, with an ornately wrought window, just as she suspected when it painted him with light. His armour was on the floor. Her sword by the door, sheathed in his shield scabbard. Her hairbrush on his bedside table. He was breathing heavily, and he stepped back from where he was, so close, clearly keenly aware of how she was spread.
"You don't take the Relics," she said. "One condition."
"Just hide them in here, then."
"What?"
"Look, there's a drawer under my bed," he said, and he drew it out. "Nobody expects a Relic capable of ending the world to be stored in a dinky bedroom. I won't do anything with them."
"The old man hid the Relics behind doors which required the Maiden powers to open, with careful elements in place to make even reaching the Vaults difficult. You propose to place them… under your bed."
"Hey, Oz always had big ideas, but did they work out?" He shrugged. "Maybe he just needed a closet to stick them in. Might've made life easier for the Maidens."
Life was not easy for a Maiden. She unhooked the Lamp, and the Staff, and slid them in. Truthfully, she did not want to creep down to where Salem was sleeping again. She feared her luck would not fare her well this time. She had already killed that Seer.
"You swear not to take the Relics."
"I swear. You're helping me, and you haven't tried to kill Ruby again."
"Come on," she said, droll. "You don't care about bargains. Be honest. What's the real reason you won't do it?"
He searched her, as if she had the answer, not him. "What will happen when Salem finds out you took them?"
"She won't," she said, confidently. "And even if she does, she'll understand why I had to do it. Whatever it takes, for Vacuo. She has no idea how tense the situation here is. Tyrian threatens only to strengthen you, and he's so needlessly sloppy. Mercury is no better. His heart isn't even in it."
Jaune sighed. "So, yeah. That's why I won't do it."
"I don't get it."
He said nothing. He was unsubtle, though, as his dark blue eyes traced the monstrous growth he had judged her for. Chosen it. Ha. She woke up with it. She only remembered the pain of its parasitic attachment. If only she could have screamed. No sound had come out.
She remembered the balm she felt, when he drove out its spot rooted in her Aura.
"She uses the arm to hurt you," he said.
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"I saw it, when we fought you on the way to Vacuo—"
"That was just announcing her return," Cinder interrupted him. "Don't read into it."
He did not resume speaking again. She heard something at the door, a little jitter in the jamb. She ignored it. She wished he had kept talking. She got off his bed, soft and comfortable as it was. She sighed. Tried not to think about where he stood, real as anything, no Aura apparition. He was right there. She could touch him. She could touch that soft hair.
Still, she had to find Tyrian. She pulled out her Scroll. It took a minute for it to ping into the local area connection.
Mercury, she wrote, where are you? I'm here on Salem's business.
She's awake? Tyrian must have told him that Salem would sleep after the Atlas production. How tedious. She could work with this.
Yes.
Shit. What kind of mood?
Murderous.
"Are you texting?" Jaune said incredulously. She looked at him.
"What, did you expect me to waste time searching in the wasteland? Please."
We're out at this weird crypt, like underground tomb type of thing. I'll send you the geotag. By the way, Tyrian's on the warpath.
Cinder had no warm and fuzzy feelings for Mercury. He had, after all, left, and 'gave zero shits'. Mercury always swore too much.
She had just decided to lie a little. He was more scared of Salem than her, now. If push really came to shove, Salem would be murderous finding the Relics gone. It wasn't really a lie.
"Sure, why don't we just text Mercury and ask where their special base is. Jeez. Why didn't I think of that. I could've just got Emerald to call him," Jaune said sarcastically, peering over her shoulder. He stood close to her.
"He wouldn't have told Emerald."
"Yeah, I don't think you know what's going on with those two," he said.
"Enlighten me."
"No, you can figure it out."
If he was referring to what she thought he was referring, she was just going to ignore it. That didn't matter. It wouldn't change anything.
"So, what, are you just going to besiege Tyrian's hideout yourself?"
"I'm going to find Tyrian, figure out what he intends to do next, and see if that coincides with what I want. I want to see if the Summer Maiden is truly amenable to her task, and understands the gravity of it. Maidenhood is a role for life. If it so happens I don't like what he's doing… I'll tell you."
"And if you do?"
There was that problem. Their interests.
No matter how much she liked talking to him, he worked for the arrogant old man Oz. Or Ruby, as he put it. She worked for Salem, to get what she needed. She just didn't know what he wanted.
"I'll give you a head start," she said.
He barked out a laugh at that, almost sad. "Just be careful, alright?"
"I can't imagine if I'm hurt, it will hurt you."
"That's not what I meant."
Tyrian really was an idiot. Mercury's message told her they were barely ten miles out from Shade Academy. She supposed that Tyrian had relied upon the relative unpoliced nature of Vacuo. The comings and goings nobody cared about.
She tried to meet his gaze head-on, and not think too hard about his eyes. Or his nose. Or his mouth. She found it easier to look at his neck, where she came up to beside him, brushing at shoulder height.
"The bond may complicate things. But you and I still have our respective interests. I want the Maiden powers. You want to stop Salem. I won't lecture you on the inherent impossibility of this task. But evidently we have made allowances for one another. Me, not killing you. You, not killing me… though we're in this mess because you refused to do so. It so happens that right now, Tyrian is a pain for both of us. But this won't last." She stepped a little closer. "The dream logic of the bond won't last. The way you slip into my room won't last. The way you arrange yourself on my bed won't last. Are you prepared for this trouble? For knowing that you will remain bound to me whilst I shall, and always will be, your enemy?"
She hoped it scared him. She hoped that he wanted to run away. She continued, "I killed all that you loved. I unmade you. One day, this tenuous peace will break."
"No, you didn't," he whispered. "There's a lot I love in this world. You didn't take it all away."
"None more than her," she hissed.
He shook his head. "There's more," he said, voice still so quiet and still so sweet only she was ever meant to hear it.
She wished that she had died, that day when Salem found her. She thought about it often. It was too late now to go back on it. She was a coward. Now, worst of all, she still yet lived, connected to him, sitting by the warmth of it, wishing she could have this feeling forever. What was it? It felt safe. She had never felt safe.
She had to leave it behind. She had to find Tyrian. She would figure out how to open that window, and disappear into the night, and run away from Jaune.
It was easier that way. She hovered, for longer than she should, close to him, watching him breathe in and out through his slim chest. How terrible, that she had wanted to drive a sword through him once. How terrible, that she worried for his little heart, and its pitter-patter. How terrible, that she heard her own glass heart and its fragile beat, when it had felt dead for so long.