would feel safer.”
“Just because things are difficult right now, that doesn’t mean you’re doing anything wrong. You’re trying to make up for centuries of mistreatment. It’s okay if it feels hard; it should feel hard. But you can do this, and we can help you.” Ferrick shows none of the anger I expect as I pull away to look at him, nor is there sympathy in his expression. Rather, there’s pity in those green eyes. He sets a gentle hand on my shoulder, willing me not to look away.
I brush it off me. “Don’t treat me like I’m a child,” I snap, though the moment the words are out, I wish I could bite them back. “I’m fine.”
“If you’re fine, tell me what you were thinking of doing with that scale,” he challenges. “Tell me you weren’t considering twisting time so far back that we’d have to do this all over again.”
I look away, saying nothing. Ferrick knows me far too well.
“You made me your adviser.” His voice is commanding. Powerful. “And some advising is exactly what you need. So suck it up and listen, because we’re stuck on a ship in the middle of the sea, and there’s nowhere else for you to go.” There’s an almost wild look in his eyes that tells me he’s determined to say his piece, and as the wind pushes against me, whipping my hair back and forcing my body to stay seated, it’s as though the gods themselves are demanding I listen. “The last thing you are is fine. Think of the ramifications if you do this. All your life you’ve wanted to rule this kingdom, Amora. So rule it. If you give up now, you’ll be no better than your ancestors.”
“I have thought of the ramifications! I’ve thought of everything.”
“Have you really? Then tell me what good can come from this decision. How will you be saving Visidia, by putting it back to how it was?”
I know this is a conversation I need. They’re thoughts that’ve been swirling in my head for so long, and I know I need to get them out. And yet I can’t help my defensiveness. Being confronted like this makes my skin prickle and my voice bitter. As much as I might think I want this conversation, the actuality of it is grating.
“If we can stop Kaven before he attacks Arida,” I offer, “we’ll be saving lives.”
“And you’ll also be destroying them.” He doesn’t miss a beat. “There’s no doubting that Visidia’s in a period of hardships, but before something can heal, it scabs. It gets ugly and painful, and you just want to skip ahead to the easy part where everything’s fine. But if you go back, you’ll be putting Vataea back in captivity. Kerost and Zudoh will go back to the struggle they were in before. And what if we take too long to get them stable again? How many lives might we lose, then? Do you remember every single soldier who was on Kaven’s side? Because if you don’t, and information slips, he can attack at a different time. Or he could reinforce the barrier around Zudoh and make it even harder to penetrate. It’s too risky. You’d be starting from square one, trying to convince your father that they’re worth our time to help.
“I loved King Audric, too.” Ferrick’s voice falls when he says it. “But he wasn’t that kind of man, and we need to stop pretending that he could have been. We can’t count on him to change his mind, and if he doesn’t, then how else will you ever help Visidia? You will single-handedly put this kingdom in more jeopardy than it’s in now.”
I try to resist them, but the words resonate. Even though I loved Father to my deepest core, he knew the truth. He could have stopped all the lies in in Visidia, but he didn’t. Back on the night of my birthday, Bastian gave him the chance to step up, but Father ignored it. I’d pressed for information, and he’d lied to my face.
Ferrick’s right—if I brought Father back, there’s no saying that I could make things go any differently. Even if I hadn’t failed my performance—even if I’d claimed my title as heir that night—Father had lied to me for too long. That’s the way he knew how to rule.
Visidia deserves better than him. It deserves better than either of us.
It is a cruel fate, but it is yours. And what you do with it