All's Fair in Revenge

Present

Two Hours

I let the silence between us linger too long. It's not like I want to talk, but I also don't want to spend the last hours of my life in solitude. I've walked a forest alone for days. I've sat next to a fire and not felt its warmth. I've slept amongst my enemies and fought with all my friends. If this is to be my final act, let it be noisy. Let it be loud.

"I've always known something was wrong with me." I rip a thick rag from what's left of the hem of my overdress. The new length hits below the knee. "In Somer, I long for Náre and the All Sols Feast. I daydream about Hollis cake and peppermint milk and the arrival of the sklads." I twirl the fabric until it is as tight and round as a rope. "Yet during Náre I daydream about Somer, about floating in the sea until I've more wrinkles than the oldest woman to have ever lived, of Ma'mir's lavender and lemon cordial, of flower crowns and sweaty, starry night skies. Which is all just to say, I think I've wasted my life looking forward."

My feet align with the bars separating our spaces. Cian sits with me. His head rests on the metal for longer than ought to be comfortable. The silence between us goes on longer than what's comfortable too, so I fill more of it with the nonsense collecting in my head as I wrap the fabric rope around one of the bars at the entry to my cell. I start pulling on the ends of the fabric creating a friction hot enough to light a fire.

"That'll never work," Cian says.

"I'm aware, but it's better than doing nothing. Besides," I remove the rope and tie it into a loop with one long end, "when it doesn't, now I have a plan b."

"That's not funny."

"No, it's not, but I'm done waiting around for others to write the ending of my story. As I was saying, I waited for Ma'ma to approve my enlistment into the Heerth. I waited for Arin to train me so I might prove I could do it. I tried taking things into my own hands. Oh, but then once here, I waited for Arin's killer to fall into my hands, yet it was you who encouraged me to keep searching, to take control. How I must have made you laugh." Cian doesn't respond. He has nothing left to say it would seem. No explanation. No excuses. I almost wish he'd lie. "Then I waited for the wedding. In the end, all that waiting, masquerading as meticulous planning, still landed me in here."

"I'd wager waiting is worse than death," says Cian who's moved to the window. He watches the workers dig post holes and the small platforms we're to stand on whilst we burn. Over the course of the last hour or so watching the humans build our death beds had created a sobering effecting on my anger.

"Impatient to die," I ask, ripping my thumbnail away with my teeth. I had little more than nubs left by this point. The fresh skin stung in the open air. I preferred it more to the pain eating me inside out.

"It's the anticipation." Rays of morning light pick up the chocolate brown strands in the dark hair tickling his round ears. "It's unpredictable. Not knowing what's going to happen is worse than the actual suffering."

"Your mother did a number on you, huh?" Months or even weeks ago, I might have kept that comment to myself. These days, I have nothing left to lose. Why not lay the cards out and see how they play?

"She's not the only one," he mumbled, turning back to the view outside.

"Pardon?"

"Do you really want to get into this again?"

"I'm sorry," the laugh I spit comes out harder than hail in a Somer storm, "have somewhere important to be?"

The ceaseless drip of water puddling in the corner of the room drops four times before Cian speaks again. "No."

"Great. Me either." I stand, dust my hands on my apron and meet him at the window. "Let's start with an easier question than last time. One less pointed. Like, why'd you kill my sister?"

His focus remains on the workers outside using pulleys and levers to build our stakes. "There's mud everywhere. They're never going to be able to light the wood while it's soaked."

"That's not an answer. Still too hard for a first question? Was there ever a time where you thought you should confess to the murder of my sister?"

He ignores my question. "What do you think it feels like to burn to death?"

"Hot." I cross my arms over my chest. "Now, I've answered one of your questions. It's only right you answer one of mine. Feel free to choose either I've posed or try this one: what was the point of killing Arin and tricking me into falling for you? What did you get out of it?"

Cian sighs and turns away from the window. He runs a hand through his greasy waves, moving them away from his face. The light hits the round muscles in his arms and an unwelcome heat simmer in my stomach. "Luv—"

"Don't call me that."

"Fine. Hana." He pinches his brow. "We both know there is nothing I can say to satisfy you. I can—and have—told you it wasn't what you think. I can ask for your forgiveness. I can plead for you to listen. But we both know you'll believe what you want to believe and there's not a damn thing I can say to change your mind. So why bother? We're hour away from an agonizing death and I'd rather not spend it bickering with the woman who led me on to sus out her sister's murderer."

A second, more sardonic laugh sputters from me. "I led you on?"

His attention snaps to me. "Yes, that's what I said."

"You're delusional."

"And you're the most mulish woman I've ever met. At least I can admit when I'm wrong."

"Better a mule than a murderer," I mumble.

He releases a sardonic huff complete with a pointed grimace. "Well, if that's not the dog calling the wolf hunter."