Page 80 of Malicent
My guilt lives somewhere else: on the battlefield between emotion and duty. It’s born from weakness and failure—in moments when I couldn’t save my sisters, my mother.
She squeezes back. “I hope you can fill other homes in your lovely head with better emotions to balance it out.”
She exhales slowly. Kalix glances up and catches sight of us. His gaze lingers on her.
He grins, raising his voice. “Enjoying the show, Rainbow?”
Her sadness vanishes beneath a wide smile.
She lets go of my hand, cupping her mouth, and shouts, “Take your pants off next!”
Kalix smirks, keeping eye contact as he reaches for his belt.
Her laughter erupts, chasing away the last of the shadows from her face.
My shadows remain, and in this moment, the difference between us is so clear.
There is nothing that can chase away the dark that draws my very features, stirs in my very blood.
For I am it.
Like Arcadia, Iris is light, with shadows of loss cast upon her. The difference is that she can step into the light and vanquish them.
How do I vanquish what connects the very particles of my being?
“Kalix!” she scolds, still laughing wildly and unrestrained.
Kalix clasps his belt again with a flourish and bows before turning back to the training yard.
One nearby guard earns a slap to the back of the head when Kalix catches him staring up at us.
“Eyes on your opponent!” he barks, grabbing the boy by the collar and shoving him back into the ring.
I admit the real reason I was watching the guards: “I was considering training.”
“I think that is an excellent idea!” Iris beams. “I could train too, but, honestly I’m still learning. I’d be no challenge for you.”
She leans against the railing, still grinning. Her positivity shines like the midday sun. “A lot of the guards are well trained, but the knights might be more your speed. The mages too. And Kalix or Cage would probably be willing to help.”
The idea of training with Cage unsettles me.
I worry that if I lean too far into it—if I lose control—I’ll lash out. And Nora is still keeping a close eye on me.
I cannot falter.
If I get my mother’s killer under me—his heart calling to me, pleading with each beat to have its long song ended—I will not stop until the tan from his skin pales, the warmth a memory.
Tyran’s orders are clear: no assaults, no exceptions—not even if I found peace after tearing Cage apart.
“I will think about it,” I say. My gaze drifts down to the yard, just as a familiar presence pulls at the edge of my awareness.
Iris gasps and grabs my arm, whipping around to face me.
“Millicent, look!” she exclaims, pointing down excitedly at the floor below.
There, staring up at us with black beady eyes, is Ollie.
He licks two of fingers and smooths over nonexistent eyebrows. “Well, hellooo,Misses,” he whistles, eyeing Iris with exaggerated flair. His gaze slides down her leg and then up, and I can already hear the thoughts forming in his head.
