All's Fair in Revenge

Present

Thirty Minutes

"Your silence might power a storm," Cian says, the words harsh, curt. I've been tapping on the stone around the makeshift window for a solid minute or so, driving us both to the brink of insanity, but there's a well of energy coursing through me. One I cannot curb. The fidgeting alleviates the buzzing. Not so much the annoyance. There's also a purpose behind the tapping, but it's a long shot that lengthens if spoken aloud.

He moves to comfort my arm through the bars, but I sidestep him, my stare containing such warning I can feel the whites of my eyes darken to night. He sighs, the breath drenched. "Am I to apologize?" His eyes sweep over the floor in search of something tangible, something less elusive than my forgiveness.

"For what," I ask. "Burying the room with the weight of your ill-timed feelings? Or the lashing by which you proclaimed them?"

He shrugged. "You begged for honesty."

"No, I begged for answers to my questions; the same ones I've asked over and over. For one so adamant I concede my part, you sure do like to deflect from your own. What good is an apology if it serves to redirect blame?" I straighten my spine and dramatically take on his familiar tone and mannerisms as I say, "I can't give you answers, instead here's about a dozen insults to describe how I adore you with the worst timing possible so it's all you're to think about as you to die." I shake my head. "Really, Cian, it's almost as if you expected your declaration to change everything between us. That I'd forgive and we'd embrace, and all would be forgotten because love conquers all or whatever horseshit the sagas boast. If you want me to forgive you, you're going to have to tell me what I want to know and even that may not be sufficient. In fact, it's likely not. But you know what might help?"

"What?"

Wrapping my palms around the adjoining bars, I smile at Cian Thorne, prince of the Druvix and say, "If you'd try to get us the hells out of here." I smack the bar with my open hand, and it reverberates in his face. "You're so busy making peace and amends while I'm ready to jump out of that bloody window if it means a quicker death. Are you so resigned?" I push against one of the stones closest to the opening and while it wiggles the slightest, it won't budge.

"You're going to take down the entire tower wall doing that."

"So?"

"It'll kill us."

"We're going to die anyway. Wouldn't you prefer it on your own terms?"

"I'd prefer not to be crushed to death."

"And I'd prefer not to burn."

"Oh right, so who cares that it'll take out me and anyone above or below us too? If Hana gets what she wants, who cares what casualties she leaves in her wake!"

"Fuck off," I say, even though I know he's right.

"You first." He growls.

My fist clenches at my side, and I'm deciding whether or not I can clock the Druvix between the bars with minimal damage to my hand when the bell tower tolls. Guards command the gates to open. Cian and I whip our attention to the window. We strain against the stone trying to get a better view of the ground. A loud clank sounds as the iron fittings are removed. Then shouting as men in steel and chain yank the portcullis open. Gate drawn, hundreds of people file into the armory's courtyard, but all I can see is the shuffle as they gather around what I assume to be the stage.

I swallow. Loud.

Cian's hand moves to his neck.

"We have time. They draw these things out." He looks at me and only nods. What else is there to say? Nothing. Instead, I shove my shoulder into the stone wall and hope to Eyr one of us gives because either that wall is breaking or I am.