chapters may be coming out a bit slower, as i'm trying to pull off one or two chapters of Beyond A Reasonable Doubt (which i just started updating again, and you should maybe check it out for me /bricked for self promo) before doing one of these. also, the format has been changing a little; if i can squeeze in two perspectives, then i will, but for character-focused chapters i may keep to just one pov.
(also this got really long oops)
the meantime
n. the moment of realization that your quintessential future self isn't ever going to show up, which forces the role to fall upon the understudy, the gawky kid for whom nothing is easy, who spent years mouthing their lines in the wings before being shoved into the glare of your life, which is already well into its second act.
- the dictionary of obscure sorrows.
Her hands tremble, arms dangling, wrapped in chains. She leans her head against the wall, idly tapping fingers with her eyes drawn downwards to her hands, which seem to be moving even though she doesn't remember ever making them. There's a window, wide and gaping, showing off the gentle night sky and the glowing stars. Wind rustles through the trees. It's an illusion of freedom, she knows, because not even her lightning could shatter that window and let her escape - it's diamondglass, too strong for her to break but so beautiful. Mare bets that it's the point, another stupid metaphor for her to stare at all day until she finally gets it, until her thoughts are nothing but purple prose and weakness.
She's gone numb. She hasn't used her lightning in so long. And the burns on her arms and her collarbone don't hurt anymore. The click-clicks in her head that sound up occasionally don't really pain her as much as they used to. It doesn't really matter what clothing she wears or whether or not she's in chains at all. She sits, absorbing what information she can like a sponge, storing it away for later use shall a later ever come. (Which it probably won't.)
But she doesn't really trust anything she hears. Maven knows she's listening, and all he speaks about around her room are the Guard's defeats and Red casualties. Either that or the Reds are just losing so badly. Mare doesn't want to think about the latter.
Mare doesn't want to admit that she almost enjoys his company. She doesn't really know where her room is, because she's never let out that often, and Silvers don't pass by often without the boy-king (unless they're very quiet, which they could be), so her only real companion is Maven. That's the point, she doesn't doubt, for her to be indoctrinated to his presence, for her to long for the nights when he comes in and sits by her side. And it's working; a human needs social interaction to keep sane after all, if she's even human anymore. But she really doesn't want to admit that either.
He doesn't speak on the nights he visits, which is good. Maven's voice grates against her ears like nails on a chalkboard, because she can't pretend that the churning in her stomach is the churning of a royal boat on the sea, that the few footsteps she does hear are Tiberias the Sixth and Elara marching around, bickering on deck, that the shadow prince, traitor prince, Maven, is there to hold her hand and make promises that they'll never lose each other and press a kiss to her lips. That's not how it is anymore. Tiberias is dead, Elara is dead, that old boat is probably long gone, and Maven will never speak to her in such a soft tone ever again. He will never be the traitor prince, instead passing that title aimlessly to his brother, and he will never be the shadow prince, because he is the flame. He will never kiss her again if she can help it.
But he's promised that he'll never lose her millions of times. Billions of times. Until we meet again.
Mare thought she'd never go back to him. And here she is.
"What are you waiting for?" she snaps at herself, the old fire in her only really being reignited by the fact that she's only angry at herself. Maven never speaks to her, watching her with ice-blue eyes that churn her stomach but no words spoken. They squash her temper with each word stolen from her, till she's hunkered down in her own little corner, yanking at the collar around her neck and wishing she had enough energy to move to hang herself with it. "What are you waiting for?" she says again, her voice vehement, her voice so angry.
What is she waiting for? Silent stone weighs around her neck, swallows her chest and her still beating heart, a collar Maven told her on the first day was 'custom made for her'. God, she hates him so much! But she needs him there, needs him like air and her still beating heart, which is to say she needs them but would gladly throw them all to the dogs if she was given a chance. She yanks on her collar. It does nothing. It is futile. It's all futile.
What is she waiting for, holding her sparkless hands in front of her and scowling at her fingertips like they could light up without command? What is she waiting for? For Cal to swoop in and rescue her? For Shade and his honey-brown eyes, to teleport in and snatch her up? The first is just as impossible as the second. She digs her fingers in deep and watches herself bleed red.
"What are you waiting for?" Mare snarls, voice low and angry. She's half asking herself and she's half asking him. He tilts his head like a curious child, blinking those blue eyes of clear water, a small boy on a boat whose father never pays attention to him. His fingers wrap around the railing on the deck, and then he pulls and shatters the dream; he is a tall king of a nation, in a castle, whose father is dead, and he's holding her leash not the railing on the deck. Today is one of her better and worse days in one. She's never brought herself to this high of a boiling point directed at anyone but herself in a long time. But usually she sees him for what he is; the king, not the prince, not the Maven she thought she knew and the Maven that never existed.
"What do you mean?" he responds. Calm. Cool. Disgusting. How she hates his voice. How she loves his voice.
"Why haven't you killed me?" She tries to stop desperation from creeping into her tone, and it almost works, hovering just on the edge. "Or tortured me? Or used me for knowledge or... something?" Anger pricks at her throat. "Why are you just leaving me here?"
Maven laughs, just a little bit, like she'd said something funny. "It's isolation, Mare, the easiest form of torture." And of course, she'd known that earlier, when she cried for herself and the teasing wind just outside the pane of diamondglass. But her heart still jumps all the same. "Hadn't you figured it before?" he muses, and though she had, she doesn't give him the satisfaction of words. "My Mare would have known. Perhaps this is changing you a little too much."
She feels like he's baiting her, but Mare spits anyway, "You had no Mare, and I had no Maven, in case you forgot."
He hesitates, just for a split second, either at her words or at the fact that she still had enough spark in her to respond that way, but it's enough to gratify her. He recovers so quickly, though, resuming that easy smirk (smile is too genuine, but smirk is too snakelike; he hovers somewhere in between) and drumming fingers against his thigh. "Perhaps I should leave, then," he suggests.
Oh, shit. It's the best way to shut her down after however-the-hell long of isolation, and he knows it. He's left her alone for however long it's been, only peering at her on sparsely thrown in visits and never speaking a word to satisfy and/or grate her ears, and though he obviously takes sick pleasure in watching her kneel in that stupid collar like a dog - like a bitch - she's not his top priority anymore. At least, not until she's completely broken, till she's hidden so far away she can't even see herself anymore, and she'll... well, Maven would happily find out. And then what? whispers the tiny voice inside that sounds suspiciously like Elara did. Will you let him do what he wants? There's a certain place not even he will go, but if he would, would the broken you let him?
No, she wants to say, but she's not sure. At least she's protecting people. Cal, Bree, Tramy, Kilorn, Gisa, Mom, Dad, Cameron, Farley, every little Red girl and boy. Or is Maven still hunting, and she just doesn't know?
"Will I ever go outside?" she asks him, instead of answering.
He should call her out on avoiding the question. In a rare act of mercy, he doesn't, and instead looks to the ceiling as if considering. Then he turns his eyes to her. "Yes," he says, and he stays quiet long enough for her to feel an inkling of relief before continuing, "With me, when we leave for Summerton."
"Has it been that long?" falls from her lips.
Maven tilts his head at her. Curious and easy; she swallows thickly, and his hand absentmindedly grasps her knee. She wants to cry and scream and kick at his mere touch, but he is the king here, and he will never let go, no matter how much she protests. Besides, if she protests too much then he'll leave her, leave her for more months of screaming at nothing, and she wants someone there. Anyone. Even him, if it comes to it. "A few months," he answers. "It's winter. I never gave you your birthday present, but I didn't want to interrupt you." Translation; he didn't want to ruin my solitary confinement, she thinks, expression dark. "Do you want it now?" he continues.
Mare's tempted to let out a sigh of relief that he can't hear her thoughts. Though he's a burner, his whisper-like tendency of seeming to know what she was thinking always puts her off. "Not particularly," she replies.
"Jokes on you," Maven says, his tone bored before lightening as he continues, "Happy birthday! You're talking to me, and can ask me whatever you want to." For a moment she's surprised, then she asks him if all answers will be truthful. His diligent "Of course!" is a sign that, no, not all answers are going to be truths. But they won't all be lies, either. Okay, then. Make this challenging, o great King Calore.
"Can you tell me about Thomas?" she asks.
Maven gives her a look that practically screams 'bitch,' a look that she (to her great dismay; he's actually scaring her?) fears for a moment, until he lets it go and sits back, sighing loudly and gesturing. "Fine," he says, heavy and strangely reluctant, "but only because it's your birthday."
"It's winter," she says, a smirk twitching her lip. "My birthday was a few months ago."
He glares at her, and the triumph was one of the best things she'd felt in a long time.
What is he waiting for?
Newbloods gathered, rounded up, trained as war machines and... then what? The Scarlet Guard goes on without her, and he does too, albeit a little reluctantly. But Mare, their untouchable martyr, Mare, their relatable partner, Mare, their confused girl who leaps back and forth between untouchable highs and unfeeling lows, was a backbone they needed. He hadn't expected her to go, especially not willingly, and part of him feels responsible for it; like their fight (if you could call it that) was the thing responsible; like Kilorn shouting at him to "do something!", to "make her stop," lets the weight fall on him?
It wasn't, though. She'd forgiven him... right? And she'd apologized... right? Without words, a conversation lost in the winds?
But then what did that make the moments that came after, Maven and his quiet laughter, his cold eyes, his total, complete nothing - he is not a brother anymore. (And he never was. Cal constantly forgets that.) "Are you a man of your word?" What did that mean? Probably something he wrote to her in his letters of bait and murder, whispered things that she shoved away with the rest of her junk and pulled out to torture herself again. He watched her then, though she thought he was asleep, and he thinks of it now; he thinks of it and the way Maven grabbed her, hand around her throat, hand around her chin, a threat like any touch he could squeeze or pull and kill her in an instant.
"She knelt," Farley says.
"Oh," is all he replies with. She never knelt before. Cal hates Maven. He wants to kill him. He wants to take back his throne with all the thunder it deserves. (He wants to sit down at a chessboard, Maven with the circles under his eyes and the quick smile on the other side, no crown on either of their heads, no corruption, no lies.)
"Want to see? It was broadcasted." Farley knows his answer before he gives it; that's the kind of person Farley is, though Shade's death has changed her more than he thought it would. His 'yes' is loud and sure, but he wants to say no. She beckons, one hand forward, and it's been weeks since they last heard of Mare, so he kind of has to see lest he be left in the dark for however long until she's broadcasted again. (It's to be months, Maven throwing her away in a room so her mind rots and she needs only him, but Cal doesn't know that.) He watches the footage and he wants to be sick, wants to be sick at seeing his brother's face, wants to be sick at seeing Mare wearing a collar like a dog, wants to be sick at seeing her kneel even though Farley already told him that she did.
"Oh," is all he says again. Ada, across the room, lowers her gaze to the floor. Kilorn's face is dark with anger. Even Cameron shifts on her feet, looking awkward. Mare tried to act like such a leader, and though he, a leader, never thought it really worked, perhaps it did. Or maybe because she was the 'original' newblood, the one who broke the silence first, the one who brought everyone together. In any case, the kneeling seems to effect everyone who sees it.
"I didn't think she would," snaps Kilorn, finally, breaking the strange silence. "I hate him so much."
There's unanimous murmuring of agreement. Cal makes a little indifferent noise. He hates his brother, too. Is it all on Maven that she kneels? What does it mean; forced obedience or willing obedience? The two parts of him (the one who still wants to defend Mavey, the old brother he's sure is still there though he'd never admit it, and the part of him in the Guard, the part who sleeps by Mare's side in the Notch) bicker in the back of his head while the Reds in front of him complain about their hatred for Maven. He decides that it's a paradox, an impossible question with no real answer.
The footage loops again. Maven points at the ground, and Mare kneels.
