Tear You Apart (27 page)

She exited the forest and came out onto one of the paths. All the guests were moving toward the lakeshore. She was the only one who was trying to leave, and she worried that alone would be suspicious. Would they even let her out? She made sure her sleeve covered the entry mark on her right arm, and stepped up to the checkpoint. She waited until one of the guards turned to her, then pushed up her left sleeve so he could see her exit mark.

She didn’t say a word. She kept her head down, which meant, unfortunately, that she was looking at his sword.

“Leaving already?” the guard said. “You’ll have a hard time getting up there. It’s a nonstop flow of people coming in through the doors. You’re likely to get shoved back a few times. Kicked in the head, depending on the door you use. Or we could avoid all that,” he said as another guard grabbed her arms and twisted them behind her back, “and bring you back to the palace.”

“What are you talking about?” Viv said, struggling to free herself. “I’ve never been to the palace. No one goes there.”

“I’ll let the king tell me if I have the wrong girl,” the guard said. “I have orders that you’re not to leave. The prince’s fiancée needs to be protected at all costs.”

The guard called for someone else to relieve him. Then he and the other guard took Viv through the silver forest, and though she kept up a barrage of lies and excuses—everything from
I’m not your prince’s fiancée
to
Why are you following the troll’s orders? He stole you. He’s making you sick. Why are you doing what he says?
—nothing had any effect, except maybe to piss them off.

“Why would I do what you say?” the guard asked. “You’re not going to kill me if I disobey you; he will.”

“Isn’t that reason enough to disobey him?” she asked, struggling anew. Her wrists were so raw it felt like she was about to twist the skin off.

The guard laughed. “Yeah, let me risk death so you’re happy. Sorry, Princess, not gonna happen.”

They dragged her past the crowd outside the nightclub and every head swiveled to watch. The woman with the purple lipstick opened her mouth, scandalized, and smacked her companion on the arm. Viv hated them all right now. She hated everyone so much.

The guard brought her to her room, shoved her in, and locked the door from the outside. “I don’t recommend climbing out the window,” he told her. “If you fall and break your leg, the king might cut it off.”

Viv slid down against the door. She bit her purple lips in frustration, banged her fists on the floor. She’d just blown her best chance to escape.

She sat there until the silver marks disappeared from her
arms, trying to figure out how to get out of this. Pounding on the door woke her. She sprang away from it, holding her head.

“The king expects you at breakfast,” a man’s voice said. “Hurry up. You’re making everyone wait.”

The troll, his queen, and all twelve princes were already seated in the dining room. A few of the princes glanced up at her arrival. Most—including Jasper—stared at their empty plates, or at the profusion of breads and muffins piled in baskets and arranged just so. A rainbow of fruit was scattered decadently across the table, as if the troll planned to paint a still life later: plump grapes lounging on top of apples, which bumped up against bananas, pomegranates, and oranges. The servants had begun pouring the drinks: coffee for the troll, orange juice for everyone else.

“We have our meals at regular times,” the troll informed her. “You’re late. I suppose your escape attempt caused you to oversleep.”

Viv ignored the last comment. “I didn’t know the schedule.”

“Breakfast at ten, lunch at one, dinner at seven,” the troll said. “Perhaps now you can arrive on time.”

Viv went to the empty seat beside Jasper, and put her hands on the chair back but didn’t sit down.

“I want to go to Beau Rivage,” she said. “To announce my engagement. Today.”

She thought she detected a twitch in Jasper’s posture. The troll steepled his fingers and sighed as if he was sorry to have to say this, but …

“I’m afraid I can’t allow that, Vivian. It would be irresponsible of me to let you go. You’re still in danger, and what
would it look like if I put my future daughter-in-law in harm’s way?”

“Then send me with someone. A guard.” She was certain she could lose a bodyguard in the city. “You’re a father. Don’t you think I should tell my dad I’m engaged?”

“I’d send him a postcard if I thought he cared. But you’re a Snow White princess, so we know that’s not the case. Now sit, Vivian. Eat something. We don’t want you to waste away.”

She took her seat finally, her nails digging into her palms. There was a lusciousness to every piece of fruit, a golden warmth to every pastry, but she looked at all of it and imagined it sticking in her throat, as repellant as a chunk of poison apple.

“I’m not opposed to a little display of affection,” the troll prodded, smearing butter onto a roll. His gaze hovered on Jasper until he leaned over and kissed Viv’s cheek, to which the troll replied, “Ah, young love.”

The princes took tiny, decorous bites, sipped their juice in such small doses the drinks might as well have been props. No one initiated conversation but the troll, and he seemed to wield that power deliberately, using either silence or talk to ensure they were all constantly uncomfortable.

Viv tried again. “I would come right back. I came here by choice; I obviously want to be here. I just think it’s important to share the news myself, in person—”

The troll held up a long finger to silence her. He took his time chewing, then said,

“Vivian. Do you know what I’ve learned over the years? Generosity is never rewarded. It’s an old saying that if you give a man an inch, he’ll take a mile, and it’s true. Do you know how I know this?”

“Natural-born cynicism?”

“Because I’ve experienced it. So many times, I’ve lost count. The quickest way to lose faith in humanity—even cursed humanity—is to see them all following the same greedy patterns.”

Viv thought he was done—he’d made his point—but he’d only begun. He had a captive audience and intended to make use of it, like a sea captain lecturing a prisoner he had tied to the mast.

“I believe that giving your word—such as,
Yes, I will marry you
or
Yes, I will give you my child
—has meaning. But for most people, those words are only words. They’ll claim they agreed under duress, they didn’t know what they were saying. But they knew
exactly
what they were saying.

“They knew that by saying
yes
to my deal, they would get what they wanted most: riches, fame, love. They could not look beyond that desire to see the consequences of their decision—which, may I remind you, were spelled out in advance. A child seemed to them—at the time the deal was struck—to be well worth the exchange.

“I usually give my clients a year with their children. I don’t have to, but I am generous enough to do it. Yet, each time I return and ask for the debt to be paid, do they thank me for that bonus? No. They cry, and scream, and beg me to reconsider. Until the day I come to collect, they are enjoying my labors for free—and it seems natural to them. I am merely a tool, a magical monster who does their bidding. An ox exists to pull a plow, and I and my magic exist to enhance their lives.

“People are expected to pay for their groceries, are they not? Car repairs? Admission to your father’s country club?
None of these things are free. And yet, something as powerful and rare as magic is supposed to be
gratis
? Because I see a mommy kissing her baby?”

He cast a look at the queen—affectionate? smug?—but her eyes were focused elsewhere.

“I remain generous, even now. I give the crying mothers a chance to cancel their debts—
if
they can guess my name. So, who is the unfair one? My only crime is being clever. It pains you that you can’t outwit me. It’s
unfair
not to be able to steal from a monster like me.

“You see, Vivian, I know your promises are good only as long as you don’t have what you want. Once you have it, those promises disappear because you never meant to keep them.”

He settled back, pleased with himself, and popped a handful of grapes in his mouth to chew while his audience reflected on the insight he’d so
generously
shared.

His little monologue had worn on Viv’s patience. “So what should I call you?” she asked. “You still haven’t told me your name.”

The troll laughed and licked a scrap of grape skin off his tooth. “You’re a brazen one.” He dropped his napkin onto his plate, signaling that breakfast was over.

“One more thing,” the troll said. “In case you intend to try to leave again: don’t. My guards have important work to do, and if you persist in distracting them, I’ll be forced to show you just how much I value your safety.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

VIV’S SANCTUARY, her so-called happy ending, was closing around her like a crypt. She lay on her bed with her hands covering her face, buried deeper than any grave, and spoke to Henley’s ghost. “Are you watching me? Can you see what I’ve done? Do you think I deserve it?”

She didn’t know if she believed in ghosts or spirits. She wasn’t sure if it would be more painful if Henley could witness her misery or if he were simply gone forever. Just flesh and bone in a hole she would never find. Clothes stiff with dried blood, slowly dissolving into the ground.

Viv sat up and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. How dare she cry for herself. She was alive. She was alive thanks to Henley, and no matter how awful she felt, she still had tomorrow. Still had to live through the next day, and the next, and figure out, as best she could, how to do it without him. How to get herself out of this.

From those first few days of conversation with Jasper and
Garnet, Viv knew that the lower level of the palace was where the kitchen, laundry, and dormitories were located. When the troll’s slaves weren’t working elsewhere, that’s where they could be found. Viv wasn’t sure she could count Jasper as an ally, so she went in search of Owen. He’d been willing to trade information for cigarettes; maybe the promise of freedom would tempt him to share more secrets.

It was an hour before dinner, and the upper floors were mostly deserted. The royal family had retired to their rooms, as if they needed to rebuild their stamina to endure another torturous banquet. Downstairs, the air was full of steam and the smell of onions frying. Servants hurried through the narrow corridors, dodging silver puddles and stepping around Viv. Most averted their eyes, as if they didn’t want to see her. She didn’t blame them. It was hard to know what the troll would deem worthy of punishment, and she supposed it was safer to go about their work as if she didn’t exist.

She continued down the corridor until it dead-ended in a cell block. The cells were empty, the barred doors unlocked. The floors were black with grime and flecked with bits of straw. Straw. Viv wondered if that was the troll’s little joke.

She turned to go back the way she’d come and saw Owen standing in the doorway. The boatmen didn’t report for duty until ten, and he wasn’t wearing his uniform yet, just a pair of gray pants that looked like they had been washed too many times and a flannel shirt with a hole in the shoulder.

“Taking the tour?” he asked.

“Looking for you, actually.”

“I’d ask if you were enjoying your stay, but I heard you tried to run away last night. So I guess not.”

“I just … wanted to share my news,” Viv said.

“Congratulations.”

“You can tell your friends I wasn’t trying to escape. And they should let me go next time.”

Owen laughed. “Yeah. Nice try.”

Viv sighed. “Why are the guards such assholes?”

“What did you expect? That they’d be falling all over themselves to help you?”

“I was hoping that they were as unenthusiastic about their jobs as you are.”

“No, they’re the king’s favorites. The ones he pampered growing up. They know they’ll die early, but their lives are pretty good right now. They’re not going to risk that to win your eternal gratitude. That’s pretty useless down here, I’m sorry to say.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to realize that.”

“Uh-huh. So, you were looking for me? That must mean you need something.”

“I need to know what names people have already guessed.”

Owen looked at her like she’d just told him a joke that was more sick than funny. “I have no idea. I was a year old the last time I was present for that.”

“Does anyone know?”

“Isn’t that something you should ask your prince?”

“Yes. And I will. I was just hoping someone else would be able to tell me. Someone I can stand to talk to right now.”

Owen raised his eyebrows. “I’ve never heard anyone call the king by a personal name. Even his kids rarely address him directly. When they do, they might call him Father, or sir. His
wife usually sticks to endearments. We mostly bow our heads and do what we’re told.”

“All right, then … When’s the best time to search his rooms?”

“Never. You might be his son’s fiancée but a troll is still a troll. You don’t want to make him angry.”