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They Both Die at the End

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Adam Silvera

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“Look into this one,' the Bomb says with a strange expression. It's Cardan as a very small child. He is dressed in a shirt that's too large for him. It hangs down like a gown. He is barefoot, his feet and shirt streaked with mud, but he wears dangling hoops in his ears, as though an adult gave him their earrings. A horned faerie woman stands nearby, and when he runs to her, she grabs his wrists before he can put his dirty hands on her skirts. She says something stern and shoves him away. When he falls, she barely notices, too busy being drawn in to conversation with other courtiers. I expect Cardan to cry, but he doesn't. Instead, he stomps off to a tree that an older boy is climbing. The boy says something, and Cardan grabs for his ankle. A moment later, the boy is on the ground, and Cardan's small grubby hand is forming a fist. At the sound of the scuffle, the faerie woman turns and laughs, clearly delighted by his escapade. When Cardan looks back at her, he's smiling, too. I shove the crystal ball back in to the drawer. Who would cherish this? It's horrible.”

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“It was strange. The words “panic attack” were thrown around so often that I used to think nothing of it, applying the expression to the most trivial things. But now whenever I heard it, my stomach turned itself into knots. I used to be bulletproof, and I didn't even know it. Describing a panic attack to someone who has never experienced one is impossible. However, to one who has, no explanation is needed. You just have to say the word “anxiety,” and their eyes would light up with a knowing look. A mixture of “Welcome to the club” and “I know it sucks, but at least you're not alone.”

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“At sunset, just as the light from the fire became brighter than the light from the doorway, she finished. The skeleton lay across her lap, complete, claws wired to paws vertebrae strung like beads. 'Wake,' she whispered, while the light faded outside the door. 'Wake. Please.' The bones lay motionless in her lap. She bowed her head. Please. Please, Bonedog. I'm never going to see my sister again, or my mother. I'm not going to see the Sister Apothecary or the abbess. I need one more friend. Please. It was too much like the first time. The second impossible task was also the third. She had always known that she had gotten off too lightly, being handed the moon in a jar. Fenris took her free hand, careful of her sore fingertips, and held it between his palms, waiting with her. 'Please,' she said again, and a single tear ran hotly down her cheek and splashed on to the white expanse of skull. Bonedog yawned and stretched and woke. Marra let out a sob of relief and buried her head in Fenris's neck. He held her in the crook of his arm while Bonedog stood up and bounced and cavorted around the hut.”

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“I glance back and see that he has stopped moving. He's sitting on the ground, looking at his hand. Looking at his ring. 'He despised me.' His voice sounds light, conversational. Like he's forgotten where he is. 'Balekin?' I ask, thinking of what I saw at Hollow Hall. 'My father.' Cardan snorts. 'I didn't much know the others, my brothers and sisters. Isn't that funny? Prince Dain- he didn't want me in the palace, so he forced me out.' I wait, not sure what to say. It's disturbing to see him like this, behaving as though he might have emotions. After a moment, he seems to come back to himself. His eyes focus on me, glittering in the dark. 'And now they're all dead.”

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Book:The Cruel Prince
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