Mark of Betrayal
Page 41

“For how long?” I cried out. “How much longer do I have to endure this?”
“Until you have fought with your last breath, walked every path which leads to nowhere and cried every worthless, faithless tear at the bottomless pits of Hell.”
“Why?” I wiped my eyes. “Why do you have to be so cruel?”
“It’s not cruelty, it’s a lesson. What does not kill us, only shows us where to find strength when we are in the dark.”
“But I can’t find it. I'm lost.”
“You’re not lost, Amara. You’re just not looking for the right question.”
“What do you mean?”
“Ask not why, ask not when, ask not what you need to do?”
“Then what do I ask?”
“Try asking, and I’ll tell you.”
My mouth sat slightly open and I looked to one side. What the hell is this slimy reptile droning on about? “What do you want from me?”
“I want you to know the question to the answer.”
“Well, what's the answer, then?”
“You!”
Me? Me? Why would I be the answer? And what is the question?
Me?
I looked around at the tops of the trees.
I'm the answer—to what? To the Lilithian’s future? Maybe. But what does that have to do with finding hope on this Walk of Faith?
Ask not what I need to do, but what I need to…learn?
I looked up at the black, scaly creature. “What is hope?” I asked.
It seemed to smile but didn't answer.
What is hope? Is that what I need to learn? I squinted, thinking hard. I know it’s in me, but what is it?
“Close,” the snake whispered.
“Hope is a part of faith,” I started, going over the words in my head. “I came out here to find hope and bring it home to them. I came here to find…” I looked up, realisation flooding me like a wash of cold water. “Myself?”
“Yes. You!”
“Well, I found her—she was making the oath.” I shook my head. “What now?”
“She is not you. She is a repeat manifestation of the lies that make you whole.”
“What?”
“Truth. Truth must be uncovered before you can find what you are looking for—before you can find yourself.”
“What is the truth?”
“That,” she hissed, “is exactly the right question.”
“Er!” I screeched and backed away as the snake launched forward. “Get away from me.”
“Tell me!” It slithered toward my foot, shifting in weaving patterns across the dirt. “Tell me the truth.”
“I don't know any truth.”
“Yessss, you doo.” It lifted its head off the ground and rocked from side to side, as if it had shoulders to sway from.
“I don't know what the lie is…so I can't tell you the truth.”
“Then you are lying to yourself.”
“No. I know myself. I know my inner truths. I always follow my…” I paused. My heart. “My heart is the lie?”
“Or perhaps what’s in your heart.”
I looked at the snake and felt the tight pull of my brow at the centre. “I already told you; David's in my heart.”
“Is he?”
I nodded.
“Is he there alone?”
“Of course he is.”
“Answer me truthfully, girl. Is. He. There. Alone?”
“I…” I looked down at my dirt-covered legs. “I don't know.”
“Yes, you do. Ask your heart, and do not deny the first answer it gives you.”
I touched a hand to my chest and searched deeper inside myself, already knowing the true answer. “I'm not capable of loving just one…am I?” I looked back at the snake.
“Aren’t you?”
“I am.” I nodded. “I know I am.”
“Don't lie to yourself, Amara. You cannot find hope if you cannot see the truth.”
“No. That is the truth!” I shuffled away from the snake. “I love David. Do you hear? Never anyone else. I get confused. But I love him! Only him!”
“Lies. Black heart—black as the night. You, demon child—” It slithered, slowly edging closer, “—You are nothing more than what I am; a sinister nonentity, a parasitical fiend, and you will perish in this Hell.”
“No!” I pointed to the snake. “You’re trying to trick me into admitting I'm something I'm not.”
“Trickster. Faker. Liar. Me? No.” It shook its head. “You are the worst kind of fraud, little girl, because you lie to yourself.” It glided toward me again. “You don't have to like the truth, but in order to be free, you must admit it.”
“No.” I covered my ears, scuffling away. “You can’t tell me what’s in my heart.”
“I don't need to, child. You admitted this already. Admit it now. Admit it once and for all, and you will be free!”
“No!”
“Stubborn girl,” It said, forcing me to shift farther away with each inch it came closer. “It was all you had to do.”
My hand slipped on a sharp, rocky overhang, and the flaking sound of raining dirt and stones echoed off the gluttonous canyon behind me, narrowing my options; it was either into the path of the snake, or a fall, possibly to my death.
“What are you doing?” my voice quivered as the snake advanced, slinking toward my right foot.
“Taking you back to Hell.”
“Get off me!” I smashed my foot into its tail, but the grappling, tubular body wriggled up my leg, and my scream trailed off as my hands met the absence of the rocky edge, reaching up, grabbing the cold neck of the snake as I went over, free-falling toward nothing.
And it was too late to say it—too late to admit what I truly felt in my heart. But I saw him as I looked out over the endless valley—saw Jason, saw his smile, felt my heart fill with blood for the longing to be beside him.
And that was the truth. I loved him, but I also loved David.
The quiet emptiness of falling into nothing stole a scream from my lips, but returned it as a silent breath, and my fingers unfolded, releasing the snake into freedom as the ground rushed up faster than I could control.
* * *
Hope, by definition, means, wish, desire—a chance of success. Nowhere does it say faith.
They had hope, but they never believed in me—never had faith. They wanted someone to walk them from the darkest nights of their everlasting pain and bring them to the dawn, but they needed a warrior, not a little girl who was so broken from the past she couldn't even love just one man.
The dawn came and went many times while I stumbled through this treacherous forest, and as I opened my tired eyes, my entire body burning and aching, I met the dawn again.
The last dregs of hope faded.
I had believed in myself; I had believed I’d make it out—that I’d be the queen they needed. But they just couldn’t see that. No one ever had any faith in me, and this was my only chance to prove I was strong—to prove I could do anything I wanted to—if I wanted to do it. And I did want to. I never wanted to be queen before, but I cared about those people—all of them, and I wanted them to be free, to live in peace. If I was the only one that could make it happen, then I would have done my best.
But the belief I had in myself was merely the naïve ideals of a child who read too many fairy-tales when she was young. I couldn’t do it. I didn't make it. And they knew I wouldn't.
I reached my arm out, keeping my eyes shut, and closed my fist softly around the dewy grass, while the distant lashing of a wild ocean forced a painful smile onto my lips. I’d not heard the ocean for days. I never went to see that lighthouse—never got to sit on the roof and watch the day wear on. Never even had the chance to tell Arthur that David was alive. I would. If I could go back, I’d tell him, so that maybe his heart could be free. And Mike, I’d tell him how sorry I was for breaking his heart, and even admit that he was always right—that I needed to listen to him more often.
As I rubbed one foot over the other to scratch off an irritating bug, I frowned at the feel of fabric, like rustling silk mixed with cotton, but weighty—stacked on top of me.
I rolled up on my elbows and looked down. A black dress, fitted to the waist, sprawled out around me like a pool of black blood, and all along my arms, the Markings gleamed against my perfect white skin.
As golden sunlight shifted across the long grass, following some imaginary path of duty, I saw a tree—at the centre of a field. Jason’s field.
I must have died—or knocked myself unconscious.
Leaning on one elbow, I reached across my body and pinched my own arm—and it hurt.
I looked up at the tree again. This world was too real to be Jason’s—the undertone of fogginess it came with wasn't looming. This was bright. Fresh. Flavoured like a summer morning.
I shot to my feet and watched the dawn sun travel over my toes and ankles, up the fabric of my dress, making it orange, and finally, over my hands—brightening the ancient symbols—my promise in ink. But it slipped past me quickly, heading for the border of the forest.
Dawn.
I had to run. I had to make it through to the other side—to the manor, the Throne Room—to my people. It wasn’t too late. But if the light touched that tree line, I’d never make it out of that forest.
I hitched my dress up and ran, racing the rise of the sun. And as I came upon the forest, stepped a little more cautiously, holding my hands up as if to ward off something evil. “I command you not to trap me in here for eternity,” I said to it, and my fingertips became warm. I walked carefully through the trees; they huddled together like frightened children, and as I lifted my dress above my feet, noticed that my toes, my nails, my ankles, everything was clean—polished, as if I’d never left.
And maybe that was right. Maybe I never left. Maybe I never really went anywhere at all, because everything I needed to find was already in me.
A breath of composure filled my lungs and cooled my soul as I slowed to a walk, making my heart settle its erratic beat. I closed my eyes, wearing a soft smile, breaking free of the forest just as the orange sun touched the canopy.
Each step I took over the grass felt like walking on clouds; my powers were back, I could feel them. I could feel myself almost floating, as if gravity had forgotten me.
I watched, waiting for someone in the faceless crowd to notice I was here, and as the sun came past the trees, sinking down the canopy and out through the trunks, everyone turned their heads, one by one—shock drinking their eyes, moving to their lips in a smile.
I finally reached the top of the small hill, and each subject, barely able to contain the applause, laid a path of white roses at my feet. I walked right over them, feeling them break beneath me, but the thorns did not cut; my feet had grown stronger—torn down to be built back up. Nothing would ever break me again. I had proven my worth. I made it.
Arthur’s face showed among the blur, and he bowed to me, receiving the warmest smile I owned. In his heart, I could almost hear him say I never doubted you. And I appreciated that. Because I knew he was the only one who never did.
As I walked through the doors of the Throne Room, Lilith’s marble columns seemed to greet me, and, for some reason, I didn't mind that they were fake—not structural, because it was what people saw that really counted. They saw a Throne Room, they saw a princess walk the red carpet, and in that, they saw a future. It didn't matter what foundations the lie had been built on, as long as it stayed solid. As long as it was real to them.
The white roses stopped below the first step to my throne, but as I made it to the top, saw one red rose on the seat; I reached out and grabbed it, looking up quickly when I felt its thornless stem. And as I turned back to face my people, searched the crowd for David, knowing he was out there—somewhere.
A man in a long burgundy cloak stepped up beside me, and as he placed a small, uninteresting gold circle atop my head, an intensely warm surge of blood heated my skin under the inscription of my promise—igniting the dense black to a brilliant, glowing blue, as if a tiny light shone from behind each word. My blood pulsed and shifted under the burn, but I smiled, clenching my fists, focusing on the cold rose in my hand.
My David. He’s here—watching. He’s actually here.
The fire receded and a unified gasp filled the court as the Markings discoloured—fading into my skin.
The oath was complete. My promise, eternal.
I started this journey as a young girl, and now, stood before my people as something so much more.
This is the path.
This is the question.
I am the answer.
I am faith.
I am hope.
I am Queen.
Chapter Eleven
As instructed by the old cronies who really run the show around here, for the entire three hours of my very first Court session, I nodded, smiled, glanced at Walter Moustache Man for an answer and ruled everything according to his and the Councils’ wishes. In future, I’d probably look to Mike or Falcon, but since they and my other three knights were off completing their sacrificial rights, you know, kneeling in prayer and all that, I only had Emily, Eric, Morg and the House. And Arthur, but he’d nodded only once in opinion and it was on something very minor. I knew he felt it wasn’t his place to say, and that was true, he had no real business giving me advice unless he was on my council, but I trusted his opinion.
I sat back in my chair, listening to the last dregs of this Lilithian’s complaint, trying not to look utterly exhausted. But the Walk of Faith was still thick in my bones and my emotions, and, a few times, I’d even had to resist the urge to break down and cry. I felt dirty—like I was still covered in blood and muck from the forest floor, but each time I looked down at my hands, was surprised to see perfectly trimmed, perfectly clean nails.