3MA

3MA | Chapter 17

17
THUNDERING HEARTS

Our afternoon of dragon skulls and explosions and dermatological miracles leaves Myrna and I drained to the bone.

We limp side-by-side down a bustling, tapestry-lined corridor, crowded with women carrying baskets of laundry.

Chamber doors decorated with dried wreaths of lavender burst open as we pass, revealing the blushing, wide-eyed faces of girls in various states of dress, and then slam shut once again. This must be the women's sleeping quarters.

I can tell which is Myrna's bedroom by all the empty whiskey bottles stacked in front of the door at the end. Almost certainly, the door with the sign that reads ENTER AND DIE is Amaris's.

We press through a bustling crowd of teenage girls who barrel past us in a willowy cloud of whispers and giggles.

Myrna rolls her eyes. "Ignore them. We don't get many visitors down here. At least not with biceps like yours."

I hold out my bruised arms. The crisp black tattoo that spirals down my forearm reminds me of my Dad. "These ugly things?"

Myrna pats my head. "You know, if you're going to awaken an entire kingdom, you're going to need to start by waking yourself up first."

"What's what supposed to mean?"

"Handsome," Myrna says with an eye roll, "but not very brainy."

Myrna gestures to the journal I have wedged in my waistband. "I'm leaving you with homework. By tomorrow morning I want you to learn to light a candle, carve your initials in stone, and make a dirty Martini."

Before I can protest, she slips inside her shadowy chamber and slams the door on my face.

Why are all the women in my life so--UGH?

For the next hour, I wander through Camelot with my nose shoved in Merlin's journal. I stop at flickering torches and flip through the brittle pages, my finger sliding over toppling columns of commands. I don't need to say them aloud to know they're nothing like the wild, unruly catalysts I've used in the arena. These are proud, serious things, each one daring the mouth to breath life into it and make it real.

I never knew simple words could wield so much power.

I use my nose to find my way back to the dining hall, following the charred odor of burned tapestries from my earlier mishap. I turn the corner, bracing myself for another round of sneers and ridicule.

To my relief, I find the dining hall empty. I hear clinking glass at the far end of the room.

I find Lorna standing behind the raised dais table, her hands planted firmly on her hips like the foreman of a construction site. Before her, spread across the cobblestone floor like a massive jigsaw puzzle, is a chaotic collection of colored glass shards arranged in a circle. It takes me a moment to realize what they are: the million or so shattered pieces of the dining hall's ruined stained glass window. The fragments are so numerous that Lorna has only managed to successfully piece together a tiny section at the very top; a collection of jagged pieces that fit together to form an arc of blue sky dotted with sparrows.

About twenty or so children tip-toe around the space, sifting through the wreckage for matching pieces.

"That green one at your foot might go over here" Lorna calls out.

"We already tried that," Mag and Inka whine together. They squat at a small clearing in the center of the glass graveyard, moving shards around and fitting pieces together and looking generally crestfallen.