Chapter Text
Cold...
I’m so cold...
And I can’t breathe. Where am I?
Everything is so loud to my ears, but muffled in a way that means every reverberation is being swallowed. I’m cold head to toe, I can taste mud and reeds in my mouth. I think earlier I was standing above a river, now I’m somewhere painfully freezing. Where am I? Where the hell am I? I can’t breathe. I try to but just end up swallowing water.
I can’t breathe.
I breach the surface, and cough up the water I just swallowed. As I greedily take in large gulps of air, my hands struggle to find purchase on something in front of me, mindlessly I begin to cling to it. The boulder is rough on my hands and forearms but I don’t care, I just squeeze tighter. It’s all I can do not to get pulled down stream.
It's dark, and I wait for my eyes to adjust but they never really do. I’m in a river at night. That’s it.
I try to listen, I can only hear the rushing of the river and the blood pumping in my ears. There are muffled voices I think, a young man's voice, but I can barely pay attention as I try to normalize my breathing. I’m pretty sure I’m crying, but my face is already covered in water so it’s hard to tell. I can taste the bile working its way up my throat. Where am I? Where the hell am I—
“—Is this fun?” A voice calls, closer than all the other voices, they’re speaking to whoever’s at the shore I think.
“Are you enjoying yourselves?” They yell. It takes me a second to realise, they’re in the water too. They sound so absolutely furious that I am somewhat knocked out of my funk. Okay, I still don’t know where I am, but I know I— we, should get out of this river.
The voices across the river respond, their words not registering to me at all. I ignore them, turning toward the voice that seemed just as angry as I should be about this whole situation. And there, as a spot of head of hair further down stream— The head goes under.
I leap forward. Blindly, with adrenaline pumping through my veins, I tirelessly search for a limb, sleeve, anything. A hand snatches mine, and with a strength I didn’t know I possessed, I pull the hand toward me. When I pull us back to the sanctuary of the rock, I squeeze the hand in mine tighter, and as they— as she squeezes back, I know her name. Strange, when I still don’t know much else, but I know this with absolute certainty.
Jude. My twin sister.
“I thought you were going to drown,” I say, mouth full of saliva and mud. I sound shrill and raw. It is both a panic and calming when I hear my voice again, this time from the girl whose hand I keep tightly in mine.
“We’re fine,” Jude says, she reaches down and comes back up with a big green rock. “If the nixies come at us, I’ll hold them off.” Despite the hard edge in her voice, that still sounds exactly like mine, I highly doubt the rock will be our salvation.
I cast my eyes back to the shore for answers, and force myself to focus hard. There Nicasia, Valerian and Prince Cardan stand, the Prince saying something probably mean— It’s hard not to panic over how I know who they are. It’s like I flicker between the remembering and not knowing. They are strangers and then they are the tormentors I’ve had to deal with since childhood (I block out the quiet voice that adds that they’re also well as ensemble characters—?) And as I mindlessly recognise the last of their pack, Locke, his face feigning polite interest, something other than panic finally registers in my brain. My brows crease and my lips turn down without my wanting, my hold on Judes hand becoming bruising. Locke. My lover. The friend of my tormentors. A Gancanagh. My lover. And yet, at the exact same time, or soon to be, my sister's lover too. And yet, a witty third in a love triangle. Memories of words on a page fill my brain unbidden. It hurts.
“Did Locke threaten you?” she asks softly. “It was so odd that he came
here looking for you, and then you had such a weird expression when I
walked into the stabless—ou’ll save Taryn, too?”
My name. Jude says my name, and I involuntarily perk up at being mentioned, but it’s not— it’s wrong. My name is Teddie. But my name is also Taryn. It is Taryn. What the fuck is happening? Jude and Prince Cardan trade verbal blows again, but it is of little importance to me at that moment as more memories flash into my mind.
“No, nothing bad,” I tell her. “I don’t know exactly what he came for, but
he kissed my hand. It was nice, like out of a storybook—Go, I’ll be fine.” I’m pulled back to the present unceremoniously, as My— Judes voice tells me to go. She nudges my shoulder, lodging me out of my frozen stupor.
Right. Where are we up to? If my memories are to be trusted, my memory of pages on a book, that is, Prince Cardan just asked Taryn- me to… kiss his hand, no wait— both his cheeks.
I don’t want to do that. The shame of letting Jude sit in this water and watch makes me sick to my stomach. Surely I can just wait here until they leave? But those damned nixies will finish us off, we’re too fatigued to stop them from eating us. Come on, think. I can tell I’m taking too long, as I hear Valiarean and Nicasias goading across the way. Fuck. I’m sorry Jude. I’ll think of something, I swear.
It disgusts me to betray Jude like this, but I’ve already begun my walk over, no use pitying myself now. I silently wade through the water, ignoring Judes small exhale of breath, Locke’s passive fox eyes, Prince Cardan's smile, ignoring Valiarean and Nicasia's bending over with laughter— and as I see just how close Valiarean and Nicasia are to the water edge, an finally idea comes. I don’t let any emotion that might show on my face betray my plan. Valerian leans forward as if to embrace me, his cruel smile showing off his teeth, but that's not where my eyes are truly focused.
As Valerian's hand is within a small stretch from mine, Nicasia's feet are only a little bit further.
Be bold, be bold, but not too bold.
I hesitate. Only for a second though.
I snatch Nicasia’s ankle as hard and quickly as I can. Surprised or angry, I’m not sure what emotion Nicasia feels as she comes towards me. I do see Valerian’s face though, and Lockes, and Prince Cardans. Shock of equal measure on all of their faces.
A terrible, ugly shout, a splash, then someone is trying to claw at my face as we are submerged. I drown it all out, swimming back to Jude with Nicasia pressed to my side as quickly as possible, letting the current drag me.
Unwillingly, I think of a speech that will never happen. Your sister abandoned you. See what we can do with a few words? And I take a little satisfaction in never hearing Cardan say those words. Even though when I read the book and I didn’t mind Cardan all that much, having understood his role in the love-triangle at his first introduction, his vindictive speech about how I abandoned Jude will never come to pass. It is this small victory that propels me forward.
Jude must have guessed my plan at least a little, because she’s swimming upstream towards me. I’m glad to be swimming downstream at least, Nicasia is less likely to drown me this way, despite her best efforts. I try my best to ignore her shouting.
Now, here I can work my way to something sound, as to why it was actually wise to pull the Daughter of the undersea into the river. If I had picked Valerian, he would have gladly drowned me for humiliating him, and I couldn’t compete with his sheer strength. If I had chosen Prince Cardan, whether accidental or not, he wouldn’t be useful in getting either of us out at all, let alone Jude. I definitely couldn’t have pulled Locke in, I don’t want his attention, and judging by how far away he was from my reach, he didn’t want mine right now either. So it was only logical that I choose Nicasia. All of that makes me seem very clever, doesn’t it?
But the truth is, among the four of them, I hated Nicasia the most. She never got her cheeks muddy, never got her skirts wet. Only mine and Jude’s. And wasn’t it so funny then, how graceful she looked, and how ugly we were?
Jude finally reaches us, and I pull her in by the shoulders and loosen my hold around Nicasia slightly.
“Take us back, or I will hurt you.” I say. It’s not easy for the words to come out. I’m cold and tired, and the only thing keeping me up is the adrenaline. But like I said, I knew Nicasia. As long as I’ve been around her, she has never been at a disadvantage because of me, it's always been Jude. A threat coming from me is unpredictable. If I pull her into the water and intimidate her, Nicasia will find and make the easiest exit for all three of us. Or I guess I should say, that's what I’m banking on happening.
I project the confidence of someone who follows through on their threats, my eyes hard and mouth in a tight line. She cannot find out how badly I'm bluffing. I stare at her, face looking as mean as possible, and more than anything, I think the absurdity is what makes Nicasia say nothing. I hope to any deity or god that Nicasia doesn’t notice she could very easily get the Nixies attention then leave Jude and I for dead. I’m not entirely confident but I’m pretty sure Nicasia can breathe underwater. I really fucking hope I’m wrong.
We sit in that tension for what feels like forever, long enough I wonder if I’m entirely mistaken in my assessment of her. Then, slowly, the current of the river shifts. I have a small panic attack at the impossible changing of the tide, especially as Teddie, but even as Taryn my stomach churns at the unnatural way of it. All at once, upstream is suddenly downstream, and Prince Cardan, Valerian and Locke are coming closer. It’s an awful feeling having your body moved without your permission, the river pushes us forward like a very strong hose.
As we silently make it to the shore, memories of the day press in, instead of memories of a book. Yarrow, our cat-headed lecturer, had been quizzing us on famous Ballads at the palace again. When we all been let out to eat, Jude had put salt in Prince Cardan and his friends food. Their angry faces had scared me.
Afterward, Jude and I argued over her petty retaliation as we walked home. I had said to Jude— “So you’re going to, what—teach them manners?” I sighed. “Even if someone should do it, that someone doesn’t have to be you.” and then someone blindfolded Jude. Then Locke had told me not to be afraid. Told me to trust him.
And then I went under the water, and the shock of it had lit up my entire nervous system. It had been so cold— and I couldn’t breathe, and then I— I— I wasn’t Taryn anymore. This was not what Locke and the others had planned on happening. Something else happened that was outside of anyone's control. There was a stage set here, a certain way this was supposed to go, and I knew that because of me the words on the page would never— “HAAHahaha!”
Someone’s absolutely losing it right now, their cackling is so loud that I’m pulled out of my stupor. I find the culprit of the noise, Valerian, right in front of me, who's still losing it. We’ve made it back to the shore.
As soon as we’re reasonably close enough, I let go of Nicasia and Jude. Pulling myself up the shore, it’s all I can do not to collapse in a heap and shut my eyes. It is a strange sort of humour I suddenly feel as I watch Nicasia practically lunge at Valerian before hunching over. She doesn’t say anything to me, no one does, I don’t say anything either. I’m too tired to laugh, but my smile is hard to hide. When I look up, Prince Cardan looks like he’s stuck between shock and amusement, and Locke’s— His face is neutral, save a small passive smile which is so unlike his characteristic cheshire grin. It’s in his furrowed brows that I notice how he looks a little confused, almost apprehensive. He doesn’t approach me or Jude. It is then I remember, this night has gone so wrong for him, hasn’t it? Memories of a page:
“No,” I whispered. “She’s my sister. You can’t do that to my sister.”
“You ought not worry. Look,” he said, his gaze lingering admiringly on you, wet and cold and defiant. “She’s strong enough to bear it.”
I look down, but I can’t help it, the way my smile grows.
Someone steps in front of me, and I panic for a moment before I look up and see Jude. She has her book bag on her shoulder, mine is stretched out to me. She must have grabbed them from the river's edge. I stand on wobbly legs and take my bag from her. As I pull it over my shoulders, Jude takes my hand. Memories flood my mind, not of the book, real ones. I see the first stupid note Locke had given me. If I came to your window, would you come out?
No, is what I should have said back then. Or fuck off. Anything would’ve been better than what I had written. No reply would have been best. I sigh out loud, which makes Jude turn and look at me questioningly. I grab Jude’s shoulder, slinging my arm behind her neck. As her hand reaches around my waist, I try and fail to bear her weight, instead she is the one supporting me.
“Let’s go, Jude,” I whisper. Quickly, I silently add. I feel way too vulnerable right now surrounded by Locke and his friends. As we walk away, none of them turn to stop us. Not Valerian, who's still laughing, nor Nicasia who’s still catching her breath, Prince Cardan who won’t take his eyes off Jude, and Locke who won’t stop looking at me. Not one of them makes a step towards us. Still, who knows how quickly their shock will fade.
-
Once we make it past the tree line, my heartbeat finally starts to slow down a little.
As we walk, neither of us speak. My senses become hard to ignore. It is so fucking cold, even though it’s summer, it’s still nighttime, my hair and dress won’t dry out before we get back to Madocs, my not-father’s, stronghold. My dress sleeves cling to my arms and mud is running up my legs. I can feel every stick and rock pressing into the bottom of my feet, my shoes lost to the river. Places where I realise Nicasia scratched me, like my arms, neck and cheeks, sting. My palms pulse, stinging from when I gripped the boulder tightly.
Still, at least it’s not pitch-black, the stars are actually quite pretty as they peek from behind the tips of the briars, fiddleheads and elms. And at the very least I’m not alone. It is its own kind of peace to just listen to the breath of the person at your side. If a little maddening after a while.
“That was stupid.” I say, because it bears acknowledgement and I feel the need to break the silence with some sort of sound. Just outright screaming wouldn't do any good right now, no matter how much I want to.
But then Jude shrinks back as if I had yelled.
“I’m not sorry.” She replies. And oh. Oh no. That wasn’t what I’d meant. I was talking about them, and their stupid retaliation for something Locke had purposefully misled them about. And then again, Locke had only done that because of what we had done, and his promise to me. But then, Prince Cardan had only cared and rallied the others because it was Jude. And I only knew about that because I came out of that river changed, in a way that I had no idea how to put into words. The only one who knew about everything, more than anyone else, was me.
Suddenly I realise that on the exact opposite end, Jude stands, she has no idea of any of that. And really, what does it all matter, in the face of this: My sister, accused and hurt for something she didn’t do, thinking I’m mad at her for putting salt in some stuck-up Fae’s food.
But I can’t tell her what I know. At the very least not yet, especially right now at this very moment. Not if I want to stand a chance at actually being believed. All I can do now is try to reassure her.
“I know. But I am. I’m sorry I tricked you, even if it was only for a second.” I say, squeezing her shoulders in some semblance of comfort. I’m not really sure it works. It’s too dark to see what face Jude makes, her silence is deafening. Maybe I should try to lighten the mood..?
“…Besides, did you see their faces? I thought Nicasia might have actually tried to kill me if Valerian wasn’t too busy laughing to help her.” I laugh, and beside me Jude snorts.
“What happened to playing nice?” Jude says, nudging into me.
“Where has my tender hearted sister gone? She must’ve run off somewhere.” She finishes, and while she sounds teasing enough there is a tiny edge to her words that sends a panic through my whole body. I barely understood what had happened in that river as it was, now already I’m getting my cover blown and it’s only been about an hour. Although cover for what exactly is a little confusing, because that would imply I’m not Taryn. I don’t know what I am right now.
At the very least I think I’m not not Taryn.
“Hey I’m right here! It’s just, I suppose— you may have had a point earlier.” I admit, inflicting my voice with a slight hesitance at the end. We stand still for a second and I turn to face Jude.
“When you said you’re tired of being weak, I just, I didn’t like it because of how exact you were. But Jude, you have to know, I feel how weak I am everyday, just like you.” I say, letting all the real fear I’ve experienced all my life here in Elfame into my voice.
“This won’t end well for you, we both know it. But I think we also both know you won’t stop. So, all I’m trying to say is— I want to be on the same page as you.” I say.
“...what does that mean?” Jude says.
It takes no acting to roll my eyes, especially since I don’t think Jude can see it. There I catch just to my left a red-lipped cherry bush, barely visible but still definitely there. Not really thinking, I reach over into the darkness of the night, plucking two off. I pass one over to Jude.
Be bold, be bold, but not too bold.
“It means I’ll never desert you in any rivers ever again.” I declare, deadly serious. Then I think better of it, and quickly add:
“—Unless the situation dictates it’s better for you to think I have. But not a moment longer than necessary." I finish before taking a bite of mine.
We silently eat for a moment, some wood sprites nearby fill the silence, lest I forget where I am right now. I try not to freak out about it, spitting out the cherry pit and dropping it on the forest floor.
“Let's go, maybe if we’re lucky no one will notice us.” I say, like I’m sharing a secret, like this is the declaration I’m truly serious about laying at Jude’s feet. Jude scoffs as she eats, then spits out the pit into the grass.
“Try not to knock into anything and Oriana might leave us our heads,” Jude gripes, poking me in the side. I gasp out loud, rubbing my ribcage.
“Like you’re any better, trudging around like a wet pair of drapes, it’ll be a wonder if she doesn’t wake up because of you.” I mock, which just plainly isn’t true. Jude is definitely the better sneak, she always hid better from Oriana, our not-quite-step-mother better, but I’d rather eat a mouthful of rocks than say that right now. I turn around with only one cherry that I plan on eating in front of Jude smugly, but Jude’s not where she was just a second ago.
I know it’s going to happen before it does, but that doesn’t mean I can stop the embarrassing yelp I let out as Jude’s fingers dig into my shoulders from behind.
“Ogh, you little!—” I cut off Jude’s laughter, forgetting the cherry as I pulled on her hair instead.
“Hey—!”
Jude rather predictably grabs my hair in retaliation, so I try to head-butt her off me, but she has a very strong grip. I twist her hair instead, and as she careens back I make another attempt at a shove. It doesn’t work, she elbows my head instead.
We wrestle for a few minutes, ignoring our exhaustion.
It is Jude who finally lets go when I bite the crease of her elbow. I think I hear her call me undignified under her breath.
Whatever, I’m not the one who put their own sister in a headlock.
Jude’s catches my eye, truce, they say. I again roll my eyes pointlessly, and close the distance to Jude even as she steps back apprehensively. I take her arm over my shoulders, putting my other hand on her back to steady her. She silently mirrors me, then we both take a step forward.
It’s not exactly chummy as we haul ourselves home, but the energy from earlier is thankfully gone. It’s unexplainably warmer somehow, and as we make it closer through a sparkle of fireflies that always precede Madoc's stronghold, Jude glances at me. I smile at her helplessly, and she looks away. But the hold she has on my back and ribs tightens a little, the weight of us both transferring to her more as she leans into me and lifts. My eyes see a page, words of how this night could have ended:
Grunting, I force myself up to begin walking. And all through our walk
home, while Taryn makes soft, sobbing sounds, I think about how much I
hate them and how much I hate myself. And then I don’t think about
anything but lifting my wet boots, one step after another carrying me past
the briars and fiddleheads and elms, past bushes of red-lipped cherries,
barberries and damsons, past the wood sprites who nest in the rosebushes,
home to a bath and a bed in a world that isn’t mine and might never be.
The image fades. Not anymore, I don’t say, not tonight.
--
No one receives us when we sneak in through one of the servants doors, thankfully. As we creep past the kitchens and up the stairs to our floor, no one but the goblins and grigs that guard the stronghold are awake, who decide to pay us no mind, even when I trip going up the stairs. We pass Vivi’s bedroom, and as I jolt at the idea of another sister, older and half as human as me, I note that her door has no light cast from the crack at the bottom. She must be asleep or out for the night. We have made it back to our rooms (mostly) undetected.
There is a strange lull when I reluctantly part from Jude as she walks to her room. What do you plan to do now? I asked as we lumbered home. Bathe. She said, deadpan. I laughed, even though she hadn’t really been joking.
Just as I grasp the handle of my door, ornamented and the colour of aging copper, I turn to Judes across the hall. I chuckle a little when I see Jude hesitantly lingering in the doorway of her half-closed door. Like she was watching for me to enter my room first, making sure I was safely away before relaxing.
“Goodnight, Jude,” I whisper, smiling though I’m not sure she can see it, what with only the mostly burnt candles down the end of the hall as light.
“...Goodnight,” Jude whispers back, in the dark I can just make out her still watching. And again I laugh a little as I give in to whatever this silent vigil Jude has over me, turning the knob of my door and walking into my room. As I close the door behind me, I wait and listen. My smile grows when only after a couple seconds pass, I hear Jude close hers.
But it quickly fades as I really feel my aloneness now.
I heavily lean against the door, mourning the lack of locks on it. I’m just about the edge of falling asleep where I stand, but the idea of anyone having access to my room while I try to sleep makes me anxious.
Nevertheless, standing behind the door and waiting until sunrise is neither productive nor enjoyable. I turn out to the room, my room.
The walls are pastel blue and the ceiling is very tall, just like the rest of the stronghold. On one wall, a large canopy bed with beautiful billowly white curtains rests invitingly. Opposite sits a dark walnut vanity with beautiful carvings, matching the floor, and an ornate blue stool in front of it. A deeply rich rug rests between the vanity and bed, starting at my feet and leading out to the end of the room. There, a desk area begins next to the bed. Moonlight filters in from closed double doors to where I’m sure a balcony is. I lean a little forward and next to the bed are very large closet doors built into the foundations of the room, with a sizable fireplace next to it. On all of the walls are drawings and paintings.
I try to muster up ease and instead feel equal exhaustion and nausea.
At least it's big.
Getting ready for bed is a game of guess-what whenever I open something in which I am right every single time and grossed out when I am. I vaguely wipe down with a towel, pull on some random dressing gown from the closet and leave my wet dress on a heap on the floor. I pull out an ornate orange box with gold trimming of humming birds, in which I put my hair-pins from my head back in, then take out a blue hairbrush from. Mindlessly I brush my wet hair and think. The nausea and deja-vu makes it hard to orient myself, but it’s not—It’s still my room. It’s just— I think I've got this whole thing wrong, and I don’t know how to get any of this right.
I look up and find the mirror on my vanity, I find myself, looking a little wild, but also not. What I know to be my face with some scratches is also something I can’t help thinking of as solely Judes face. The second I blink I’m looking at her, then at myself and my muddy wet hair again. I sigh when it’s not me again, noticing my hair should be darker shade, my skin more red and a little lighter. My nose isn’t even the same at all.
At least my eyes and skin are still brown, and I’m taller this time too.
Feeling restless, I stand up and just let my body move this time, letting the nausea roll off me in waves. I put my hairbrush away, then go to turn out all the lights in my room. I leave one candle on though, call me a child, but I don’t want to be alone with what lies in the dark right now.
After that, as if sneaking in, I quietly pull back the covers of the bed and slide in, trying and failing to get comfortable.
I sigh deeply, but it doesn’t really help.
Finally, after hours of putting it off, I drift to what I’ve been quietly stamping down this whole time.
…I remember being someone else, and whatever happened in the river finally let me in on this fact. I had obviously died young in my previous life, but I don’t remember how. And honestly don’t think I will ever know, nor do I want to. When I try to think of death and what could have happened to me as Teddie, there’s nothing. Blank. When I try to think of an afterlife my head starts to ache.
But when I try to think of a life, ideas, or I guess memories, come in easily.
My name is Teddie, and I stopped living as Teddie maybe when I was about in my mid-twenties. I know I was a human, and I lived as a human until the end. I had led a life of contradictions: Authoritative parents, but unlimited resources with good connections. A resentful gratitude that I was constantly reminded to show. Limited support for my own ideas but paid out of pocket University fees and car or dental insurances. A forced career to please others. A life I hated.
To cope, I would escape to my head when it was too much. I would read, watch movies, listen to music, anything.
I liked The Cruel Prince when I finished it.
And just like that, it comes back to me. Not the entirety of it, but at least the images I made of the story. At least the beginning. That in and of itself is a wonder all on its own: I remember the beginning plot of the story that I’m in right now. This is a story. I’m a character inside a story.
I leap up out of bed and run over to the desk in the corner of my room and pull out paper from one of its drawers. I grab one of the fountain pens and take a prick of the ink from the blue inkwell readily waiting for me on my desk, then with a start I think of the name again.
The Cruel Prince sets itself apart by immediately killing off Jude Duarte's parents, then carrying her away to a land of wonder and beauty. We follow the bastard daughter of the Grand General of Elfhame, as Jude schemes to make a name for herself in a land that enchants her, the Land of Faerie. Where no matter how sweet the food tastes, or how beautiful the fae, there is always the underlying truth, humanity is a weaknes—
I stop and stare at what I’ve written and think. I had read those words from a Goodreads review...? And it had convinced me to give the book a try.
I lose strength in my legs, misplacing my grip on the desk and falling as my back hits the side of my bed, as an image comes to the front of my mind. Black lettering on a white background, and a crown stuck on a golden tree branch behind the text. I had picked it up excitedly from the library when I found out they had a copy.
This is a story. I’m a character inside a story. A story that was following a script written out for me by an author that I had once been a fan of.
Tears prick in my eyes but they take a while to fall. My grief is— it’s small, I don’t have much to miss to warrant a river of tears. But still, I had once been an adult with my own free will, and I had chosen to obey my parents even if it killed me inside.
I once knew humanity and its cruelty innately, I had a life where temporality was a welcome promise.
I had chosen to spend it at someone else’s beck and call. The tears are evidence of a reevaluation of what I thought my agency was, if any choice is real.
I never would have purposefully chosen this if it was.
And now here I am, what feels like eons away from my old life, but what is very specifically seventeen years of a life here in Elflame. And in this life I was doing it again, I was bending to the will of others. Mom, Dad, Madoc, Oriana, Viviane, Oak, Locke, I was always trying to be more, I was always trying to be—I shudder at the thought— no. I brush away the weak tears and small snot, and decide to do this: I build up all the grief for myself I can muster, all the grief at learning this is a story from a book, and focus it all into my hands. I let myself write thoughtlessly. Why? Why me? Why now? What’s wrong with me? Why am I like this? Fuck this. Why me? Why? Fuck, why? Why? Why?—
I let myself cry weakly. I let myself grieve.
… And eventually, I ease out of my madness. I come to with a mostly finished page of delirious begging in my hands. Slowly, as I look at the pleading I’ve written down, I feel the grief of it all be put to rest. Probably not forever, but for now, the unfairness of it all puts itself to peace within me.
Okay.
My eyes wander and I reread the Goodreads review at the top of the page. I immediately have some issues with it at a glance. I cross out some words, finishing the passage with my own. I look at my handi-work, then as I think of the first words I had really seen in the river, I write them down. When I run out of space I blindly reach for another page from my desk.
“Did Locke threaten you?” she asks softly. “No, nothing bad,” I tell her. “Your sister abandoned you—” “— She’s my sister. You can’t do that to my sister.” a bed in a world that isn’t mine and might never be.
When I finish writing all of that down too, I try to think of what comes next. My hand begins to outline the little bits of the story I can remember at the moment.
Jude doesn’t win any recognition at the tournament, she’s taken in by Prince Dain as a spy. Jude becomes something close to Locke's lover, and uncovers suspicion about the consort Liriope’s death. Jude is caught between Locke and Prince Cardan, making a stress-inducing love-triangle. Oak the adoptive-brother of Jude is the son of Liriope and Prince Dain? Prince Dain is murdered in a coup I think. Jude poisons Madoc..? Oak crowns Prince Cardan the King of Elflame, and is bound to obey Jude for a year and a day.
…
…Fucking hell. Sorry just, no other way to put it really. I search for any surety in my head that what I’m writing is definitely true, I am no more reassured than I was before. This looks like a feverish delusion. It is here I finally confront the fact that I can’t bring up exact words like I could the memories of the pages earlier. I can only remember the events from today, and some of the vague plot ideas. I have no concrete assurance that any of what I’ve got written down is exactly true.
But! I have a separate plot running parallel to Judes, as follows:
Taryn finds a note slipped to her during class by Locke. Locke and Taryn begin exchanging letters. Locke tricks the others into thinking Jude is his lover and not Taryn. More tests from Locke. More fighting between Jude and Taryn. Taryn humiliates Jude when she reveals her engagement to Locke. Taryn and Jude Duel..?
I glance between the two timelines, first Jude and then Taryn. Some things are a little off with my memories of the story. Jude was the main character, so of course I had more insight into her, but how did that get me to Taryn’s..?
Oh! Right! The Cruel Prince was a trilogy. I don’t think I finished the series before I died. It’s a little fuzzy, but I’m pretty sure the last book had already come out. And I had read the blurb for the second book, that thing I had written earlier about the year and a day— Ow, fuck—
Jude has tricked Cardan onto the throne, binding him to her for a year and a day.
The cover was blue, a crown falling into the ocean or something. I saw it when I went to pick up The Lost sisters, curious and predictably spoiling myself. The wicked King. The second book.
I glance between the two timelines again, Jude, then Taryn, and finally I realise where my wires are crossed. I read about Jude in The Cruel Prince, and I read about Taryn in Ow— The Lost Sisters, the book before the second book. Gold littering, with a glittering purple and yellow path that led through a green forest as the background.
I sigh for what feels like the fiftieth time. I mean, I really don’t mean this lightly when I say this but, what the fuck was wrong with Taryn?
Again, when I read The Cruel Prince, I was so mad. I remember genuinely crying real tears for Jude, who didn’t have anyone truly on her side. She had allies, she had family, she had the envy of others for what they saw as a privileged life. And yes, Jude had survived till the very last page. But what good had that done her? She had suffered silently, and had never once gotten any recompense from those who definitely should have given it. Where was anyone to help her lick her wounds? Where was her sister, I thought angrily.
I decided to read the Lost Sisters before the second book to answer that question. A novella written as an insight into a character that royally pissed me off throughout my read of The Cruel Prince. The last chance I would give to Taryn before I started hating her on principle. Surely I wouldn’t come out with an opinion unchanged, but instead strengthened?
Yeah, absolutely not.
Taryn wasn’t objectively the worst of them when I read the Cruel prince, but after the literal mass murderers and Fae she wasn’t far off. She hated Jude so much just because she lacked enough self-respect and dignity. What made her so infuriating was how personal her betrayals were, but how impersonal she made them out to be.
It’s funny, digging into the memories I have as Taryn, I feel so justified in my anger. But when I confront it with memories of The Lost Sisters and The Cruel Prince, I feel so sick with it, my guilt suffocates me. To know what you are not yet but may one day become is not an easy thing to swallow. I don’t think I’m a sniveling, whining pick-me yet. But I can see the crumbling edge of this particular cliff already, how close I am to falling…
I stare at all the pages I’ve written, specifically my edited version of the Goodreads review this time.
The Cruel Prince sets its tone by killing the main character's parents off immediately, then stealing her away to a land of awe and uncertainty. We follow the mortal Jude Duarte, adopted daughter of the Grand General of Elfhame, as she tries to make a home for herself in a world that hates her very flesh, the Land of Faerie. Where no matter how sweet the food looks, or how beautiful the fae seems to be, there is always the underlying question: How far can a person driven by love go?
“It means I’ll never desert you in any rivers ever again.” I’d declared earlier, and I had meant that, hadn’t I?
Be bold, be bold, but not too bold.
I swear to myself then, I’ll try my very best to do things right this time. I will.
I have until the day that Oak (Oak my little brother how weird is that?) crowns Cardan to make Judes life easier, to make myself less of a burden to her.
I’m not going to stand around and wait for Locke to come save me. I will not be a fox's wife in this life. What I will be is the support my sister needs. Jude can stay a spy and killer, I feel that metamorphosis is inevitable. I will not follow her there, I’m too cowardly and too weak for that. My strengths lie in reading others and laying down my neck to ease social tension. Jude will be the shadow of twilight, that strikes when others are not willing. I will walk in the evening light, dine with the Fae and dare to ingratiate myself to the Seely court of Elflame by making myself indispensable. And, quietly, I will offer sanctuary to the person who has always afforded me kindness and protection.
Jude doesn’t need my sword, she is more than capable of saving herself and making it to the final page. She can do it alone, I know she can, but this time, she won’t always have to.
Because I, Taryn Duarte, vow, I will be my sister's shield.