“Poor pretty prince.” He rubbed the corner of his eye like he was wiping away a tear. “You realize that makes no sense. You’ve lived your whole life under a mountain of rock. I’ve seen you go into the labyrinth, which is a far worse place than here, and come out looking like you’ve just been for tea with your mother. It’s ridiculous for you to be afraid.”
“It’s actually perfectly logical,” I retorted, hating everything that was coming out of his mouth.
“A rock on the head is a rock on the head.” There was laughter in his voice, and he leaned on his crutch, looking at me like I was the most amusing thing he’d seen all year.
“I can hold up the rocks in the labyrinth and those above the city,” I snarled at him. “But this is too much. Even for me.”
Everyone and everything went silent. Swearing, I swung a fist into the wall and instantly regretted it when dust rained down on my head and pain lanced through my arm. Why had Marc said anything about the passage being unstable? He had to have known it would throw me off, make me say things I’d regret.
“Well, I suppose that does make a bit of sense.” Tips’s voice broke the silence.
I only scowled, refusing to say anything that would implicate me further.
“Although I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” Tips continued. “You have to be in control of everyone around you, so it makes sense that you’d want control of everything.”
Was that so wrong? It was. I knew it was. I heard the thud of Tips’s wooden leg retreating back toward his crew and knew I needed to say something. Why had I come down here? Because I didn’t want to squander the only good that had come from the choices that I’d made? Or was it to make amends for those choices? Both, I decided. It’s both. “Wait.”
Tips stopped walking.
“I’m sorry for what I did,” I said, stumbling over the words. “I’m sorry for deceiving you, but I had to…”
Tips whirled around and limped back toward me. “You didn’t just deceive us, boy,” he snarled, jabbing a finger into my chest.
“I…”
“Shut up and listen.”
The only person who’d ever spoken to me this way was my father.
“You didn’t just deceive us, you blackmailed us, you used us, and you killed us.” Flecks of spit landed on my face. “And the worst part? We would have helped you if you’d only asked. That girl saved my life when my leg got crushed. And she saved the lives of countless others when she went up against that menace you call a brother.” His finger dug deeper into my chest. “Me and everyone else? We would have given our lives to save her, if you’d only trusted us enough to help. But you couldn’t let us give our lives, you had to take them.”
What could I say? Everything he said was true, but I could so easily remember the deep, numbing terror I’d felt knowing that Cécile would die if I didn’t take the right actions to save her. “I had to be sure,” I said. “I couldn’t risk doing it any other way.”
“You mean you had to be in control.”
“I…” I wanted to argue with him, to justify and explain the necessity of what I’d done. I wanted to point to the fact that my actions had worked – that Cécile had escaped Trollus, and that she was alive and well. I wanted to make him see that not trusting anyone – other than myself to do what needed to be done – was different than needing to be in control. But mostly I hated that word. Control. Controlling. It made me think of my father and how everything had to be his way. How everyone needed to think and act exactly as he did.
If the shoe fits…
Reluctantly, I nodded.
“Good boy.” He patted my cheek, and I found myself too astonished at his audacity to move out of the way. But my astonishment swiftly turned to anger. What did he want from me? I’d apologized for what I’d done. I’d conceded my own personal failings. I’d let him say what he needed to say with no fear of consequence, and for that, he treated me like a spoiled child? Ignoring the burning sting of the iron in my wrists, I drew on my power, intent on putting him back in his place.
* * *
He knows his place, you idiot. Grinding my teeth, I listened to the warning little voice in my head. He knows you can crush him like a fly, but he doesn’t care. All attacking him would do is prove his point.
Tips must have felt the flux of magic, because the condescension fled from his face and he took a half step back. “I don’t suppose it matters much to you, though,” he said. “Cécile’s away from Trollus, and she’s safe. In the end, that’s all you really wanted.”
Inclining his head slightly, he started to back away, the conversation over in his mind. But it wasn’t over in mine. I’d faced my dislike of the mines for reason, even if it was only now coming together in my mind.
“Cécile isn’t anywhere near safe.”
Tips froze, and his crew quit pretending to work, their eyes fixing on me.
A few months ago, bloody stones, maybe even an hour ago, I would have told them only what they needed to know. Only what was necessary to secure their support. But things had changed. I had to change. I was no longer heir to the throne of Trollus. I was no longer the leader of a revolution. I was prince of nothing.