“We can speed through this part,” he says, like it’s not important. The strain in his eyes tells me he doesn’t want to witness this twice. He doesn’t want to watch and not be able to change a thing.
There are flashes of memories around us. Young-Will watching his dad lose strength. His father needing to lean on him to go up the stairs. Becoming bedbound. Pale. Young-Will pacing his room. Destroying his desk one day in anger, then sobbing over it the next.Young-Will sitting, arms crossed, before a paper-cluttered desk in a glittering navy room.Are you sure, Willoh?a graying man asks.You have so much potential. Nevermind the rumors. Please reconsider.Young-Will pushes his chair back and leaves. The endless monotonous hours that follow. Young-Will trawling the forest from boredom and discovering the Feiyan’s meadow. Begging his mum to give him something useful to do. On a delivery for one of his mother’s patients, a scrawny Pigeon tries to steal his backpack. They share lunch in the forest, but Young-Will declines the offer to join her cause. Back home, his dad lies in bed with half-closed eyes as his son reads to him. The days are idle and slow. Agonizing. We overhear a conversation between Ruth and Marc. They’re resigned that it won’t be long now.
Moments later, Young-Will bursts out of the cottage door and runs all the way to the citadel. He dodges the guard on sentry duty and heads left to a shop I’m familiar with. Shortly after, he leaves Creon’s apothecary with a backpack full of tonics.Anything,he’d said.I’ll try anything to save my dad. He can’t die. Give me all the healing tonics you have.
On his way out, he’s not watching where he’s going. He shoulders a guard by accident, who stops him and grabs his arm. Young-Bastion is there too, right in his face.
“I told you you’re not welcome here,” the prince says—something I’ve heard said multiple times before.
Young-Will lashes out. He has somewhere more important to be. He has to get these to his dadnow,before it’s too late.
“Get out of my way, idiot!” he shouts.
“You can’t talk to me like that,” Young-Bash replies.
“Oh,sorry,am I supposed to be keeping my mouth shut? We wouldn’t want anyone finding out about how you destroyed—”
The prince shoves him.
I gasp.
Young-Will hits the floor and the backpack catches his fall. Glass splinters. A pool of liquid drips from the corner of the bag. I hold my breath. Young-Will freezes. His hands curl into fists. A torrent ofwind blasts outward as he jumps to his feet. Young-Bastion pulls out his sword. It ends with the guards pulling them apart and Godfrey ushering Young-Will out of the citadel, advising him it’s best to stay away for a while. Back in the cottage, Young-Will weeps in Ruth’s arms.
“You didn’t need to,” she says.
“I had to try.”
She hugs him tight.
The memories fade to gray.
“After that, all the arguments went down a similar path,” Will says. “You probably caught a few of them. Sometimes I’d go on purpose to rile him up, if I was bored or wanting to lash out. Sometimes I just wanted to be left alone. But that’s about it…”
The green glow of the grove blooms so suddenly that I lose my footing. Will steadies me.
“Careful, it can be disorienting.”
“Will…I’m so sorry about your dad.”
He lets out a long breath.
“I wonder if it really was the dark magic that made him sick. And if I hadn’t smashed the tonics…would he have lived longer? Or was it just random happenstance? Did I doom him myself by performing that spell with Bash?”
“Oh no, Will, no.” I take his collar. “It’s not your fault. He loved you so much.”
Will smiles at the glowing grass.
“That’s true,” he says. Exhaustion overcomes him. “Bash has everything. He’s always had everything—wealth, protection, status. Education, opportunity, his fairy-tale prince, his happily ever after…The reason he gets so angry when he sees me is because he knows he’s at fault. He’s guilty. He knows that if I really wanted to, I could take all of it away. He can do whatever he wants with no consequences, and I have to spend every day living with his choices. He gets to go home to his fiancé and his castle and put his feet up and I—”
His expression buckles. He’s unfocused and sweltering, breathing unsteadily, overwhelmed by the memories we witnessed. He’s been fighting a losing battle for so long that he doesn’t know how to win. My gut had been right. I’d known Bash was hiding something. So much for peace.
I stand on my tiptoes, yanking on Will’s jacket.
“Well, I’m not letting you go easily,” I say.
“Oh, they’ll find a way.” He laughs sourly. “I’d be surprised if the queen doesn’t already know we’ve been meeting. She’s been keeping tabs on me for years.”
The night catches up with me and weariness seeps in. We’ve been out for so long, I don’t even know what time it is. Will notices my stifled yawn and smiles.
