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CHAPTER 37

Amber Marigold

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Poison? She was poisoned? Amber was ready to call the bluff, but for a while now, her limbs were heavy, and her vision was off.

"That... That's impossible," Blake said, a sheen of sweat over his blanching face. "She would've been dead already."

Amber spun and aimed a slap at Xavier. It got caught.

"What the hell did you do to my dinner, you bastard?"

"I've been slipping her careful doses of increment cure," he said while keeping eye contact with the boy. "Enough to buy time, but not enough to nullify the poison."

What kind of monster poisons food? Wine, sure, but food?

It was unforgivable.

"Well, if that's the case, not only are you going to lose to a girl, but you're going to lose to a poisoned one as well." The sentence felt unclear, so she added, "Me. You're fighting me. That sounded like you were going to fight two separate people."

She proceeded to blame her fumbling on said poison. Her vision doubled for a second. Damn, how much time did she have left? Could this kill her? She held the devil's eyes, and felt it.

If he could not have her...

"Show me what you're made of, Amber Marigold."

If only she knew what that was.

She stepped into a fighting stance but wobbled and stumbled. Xavier caught her shoulders but missed her smirk.

Her punch hurled down, and knuckles sank into his solar plexus. His breath rushed out, and he deflated onto her. Wasting nothing, she dug her nails into his neck, bringing him down just as her knee launched. She had enough drive to cave his chest in, but he blocked in time. He caught her leg and twisted, flipped her over. She spun twice before hitting the floor, and a spike of searing pain ran up her arm.

"Sneaky," he said with the slightest strain in his voice.

Her sight fogged again, and she crawled to her feet like a mole. There was no way she could beat him with her fists alone. He was too quick for her to snag lethal targets and too sturdy to get worn out. She needed something more. A change of environment.

The stairs blurred in. Cleared. She stumbled ahead, clutching her arm. Steps followed behind, and she was too nervous to look.

"Where you off to?"

"Just stretching my legs."

Amber got to the first step when a hand grabbed her arm and turned her around. She used the momentum to follow with a backfist. Xavier caught it like expected. She latched onto his hold with her other hand and spun again, locking his elbow over her shoulder and breaking— he angled just enough to unlock, and in a second, his arm draped around her neck like they were old pals.

She struggled against him, but he latched on. That arm unfurled, twirling her out of his embrace. Fast. She instinctively held onto his hand and nearly fell. Suspended, she leaned back like when they were at the ball.

"We'd have the best first dance at our wedding," he said like he knew exactly what this reminded her of.

"It would be even better if it ended with me slitting your throat."

She kicked off, dropping with all her weight, and aimed a heel at his shin. He stepped out of the way and flung her. Her feet gathered, then tripped. She lurched and crashed into the railing. The drop to the bottom floor was right in front of her, and she turned away, out of breath. Xavier was already upon her, holding her hands in place and pinning her to the balustrade.

"Threatening to kill your fiancé isn't very polite."

She wrenched a hand free and flipped him off.

"Till death do us part, Sweetheart."

Just as he laughed, she threw herself back and over the railing. He reached, missed, and she dropped.

Arms hooked onto the handrail of the second floor hard enough for something to pop in her shoulders. She dragged herself over, footsteps already stampeding down the steps above. Shit. They would catch her if she made a break for the stairs again. She could jump down to reach the first floor, but her legs might land wrong. And she would be screwed for the rest of the fight.

Shit, shit, shit.

Amber bolted down the hallway, a vague familiarity coming to mind. Steps pounded behind. And as she flung open the doors at the end, she recognised where she was.

The entertainment room was still themed with its deep reds and dark greys. The massive hearth spanning the wall still blazed with a perpetual fire, and the pool table was right there. She could work with this. This is where they met, and this is where they would part.

She grabbed a pool cue as Xavier entered the room. Their audience followed behind. Among the thugs were her friends. Blake and Enrique stood with eyes round. The twins supported the barely conscious Owen.

"Have you come to raid my liquor?" Xavier asked. He strolled to the wall of alcohol and picked a drink from the rows of gleaming crystal bottles. "I'd suggest the Yamazaki malt whisky. A good friend of mine gifted this bottle to me."

"I'd rather drink piss than anything you offer again."

"I would not recommend that."

She threw the cue like a javelin, and it speared right through the bottle. Glass shattered and fiery liquor burst, spilled to the floor. He paused with what remained of it still in his hand.

"That bottle was worth more than most people." He angled his head at her, eyes dark. "How do you intend to pay up?"

That remaining piece of glass flew at her. She dodged, rolling out of the way and got back to her feet slower than usual. Her body felt like it was filled with sand. Her eyes struggled. She stumbled to the hearth and armed herself with the fire poker. Its tip was sharp, and its hook had enough curve to gut a pig. Perfect.

Steel scraped, sang.

Amber turned as Xavier unwedged knives from the dartboard. At least a dozen in his arm, he approached her with a wicked smile.

The first blade hurled towards her. She twisted just enough to avoid it, and metal rang as it got lodged into something behind her. The second, third followed. She dodged again. Three more came, then two, then three again. Each was evaded, but her eyes strained, and her legs burned. Another shot at her. Her feet felt slogged in mud. She used the fire poker to deflect it away, too desperate to control where it flicked— a line of red sliced her arm. She winced, but the devil was too close for her to worry about any wounds. Cold drops of sweat slid down her brow. She held her weapon out, arms shaking. His mouth moved, but she missed what he said.

Wielding two knives, he charged at her. Pure muscle memory carried the girl as she blocked one blade and dodged the other. A kick to his stomach, her poker followed. He reeled back. The weapon hooked short, and buttons flew. Her feet were too sluggish for a second attempt. He advanced again with both blades pointed at her head. She ducked and thrust her poker at his exposed chest. He sidestepped. The knives flipped, switched to a reverse grip, and he sliced an X at her. She fell back, the tips of her hair trimmed. Rolling out of it, Amber stayed low to the ground with her weapon angled up at him.

The fire next to them crackled and spat. Flames reflected in the devil's eyes. Sweat ran down the girl's back.

As he dived at her, she used the remaining slither of strength in her body to twist her stance around. Her poker stopped the blades while her leg swept his feet. Xavier tripped and landed right on top of her, his knives lodged into the wood on either side of her head. The weapon was out of her grip.

"If you want me on top, just ask."

"Fuck off," her words slurred. That was all she had left. Words. Her chest rose up and down with each gulp of air. Her body turned to putty. She could not even push him off if she wanted.

"I'm pretty tired myself," he said. His own breathing was haggard, his chest shone with sweat, and his hair was a mess.

"I could still go another round," she bluffed.

Please give up. Please give up. Please give up.

His smile was that of someone who knew too much.

"Oh, I would love to go at it all night, Ma Chérie." He sighed and pulled himself up, blades still in hand. "Unfortunately, that would have to wait for the honeymoon. Time is valuable. How about we take it as a draw and call ourselves equal?" He tossed his knives to the fire and held out a hand.

Her eyes narrowed, but she barely scraped enough energy to take his offer and shake on it.

"Fine. Equal."

He got up, lending a hand. The cyng inspected his torn shirt with a tsk. He dusted himself off like it made a difference.

"Since it's come to a draw, I'll take one cyng's life instead of two. Though I still expect your hand in marriage."

Amber stilled while the thugs pushed everyone further into the room. They brought Blake and Owen over. Enrique and the twins resisted, but they were quickly restrained. One of the Northerners brought a gun for Xavier, and he checked its bullets.

"As a wedding gift, I leave the choice to you."

Her limbs were numb. Her heart weighed more than ever.

"No... That's not a fair deal."

Her legs wobbled, and she nearly leaned onto Xavier. Dignity and stubborn will were all that kept her standing. The Northerners kicked Blake and Owen down to their knees. They cursed at the men but could do little to fight back.

"The world itself is hardly fair, Amber Marigold."

Her breath quickened. The fire blazed behind her, but she might as well have been in a frozen wasteland. She shivered. Her only warmth came from the tears crawling out of her eyes.

"I can't. You can't expect me to choose one of them."

She was going to be sick. Even with the bet in her hands, she could not imagine picking between them.

"If you truly can't, I'll simply kill both. Their kin here too."

Her glare burned more than fire ever could. It was directed at the cyng of the North, but honestly, it was her own reflection in his eyes that she cursed. How many times would she be helpless?

Her eyes drooped, blinked. She raised her arm to wipe the tears away, but it dropped back to her side. Too heavy to move.

"I suggest you pick quickly while that poison is making its way to your heart." He cocked the gun and aimed it at the boys.

What scared her most was the answer she already had. That unfamiliar side of her reared its ugly head. It stared at her from under the surface, blinking through the dark waters.

Hell. She was damned for hell. How could she already know which boy needed to live? Was it not an impossible choice? How did a name appear like it was a reasonable answer in an exam?

Blake tried so hard to hide his kindness, like it was a weakness. He lost so much and kept people at a distance in fear he would lose more. Or maybe he thought he did not deserve them? How long has he waited for someone to save him? He was all alone.

But that was the point. Blake had no one, while Owen still had a family who cared for him. He would be missed. Amber knew first-hand how hard it was to lose those people. How would the Rhodes family cope if their son returned as a corpse? His sister would not understand. And his mom... his dad...

There was no end to her tears.

She could see herself falling in love with both boys. To colour Blake's bleak house or find a home with Owen's family. One boy made her think, the other made her feel. But to weigh her own wants would be selfish. She had to consider the larger ramifications. The morality. Does she pick Blake because he lost so much or Owen because his family would suffer? Both choices would damn her.

"One of the cyngs must die, Amber Marigold."

Her shoulders caved and her hair hid her face. Save me. Someone, please, save me. Save me from myself. Don't make me say it. Don't turn me into a monster.

There's no turning, that quiet part of her whispered. This is what you've always been. I've been here the whole time.

She felt it. She felt her soul rip in two.

"I... I think Owen should... live."

She crumbled to her knees and cried into her hands. There it was. The answer to how much she was worth. What she was made of. What was beneath. Now everyone knew. Amber stared up through her tears, and great icy claws ripped her heart to shreds. She never felt a pain quite like it. It was the deepest form of loss.

Owen's swollen eyes widened, his cut lips parted. And next to him, Blake's expression was completely neutral. He already knew.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she kept sobbing.

The boy looked at her with his eyes the colour of a silver medal. Second best. Never the first choice.

"Not so gold after all," Xavier said, his gun aimed at Blake.

Her sight failed her again. That bed she hid under flashed in and out. She was beyond repair. Or maybe there was nothing broken to begin with? The image of her mom, unmoving, appeared. Her reflection was still in those eyes. She blinked the memory away. How could she condemn Xavier for playing God when she did just that?

People's lives should not be weighed. Yet she could do it. She did it. And now what? What was she going to tell Lynch? She would never hear Blake play the piano again. Never prove to him redemption was possible. He told her that if she ever fell, he would catch her, and she took that safety for granted. Who would catch her after tonight? After the choice she just made?

And with that, Amber knew she could not let him go.

Her sight returned in time to notice she was hurling towards Xavier. His finger squeezed the trigger—

A shot rang. Rang through the room. Rang in her ear. Her... Blood splattered onto the girl as well as the devil she held.

Xavier's eyes turned a shade she could not place. His smoking gun was pressed to her shoulder, the gaping hole in it. Amber had her arms wrapped around him, the crowd to her back. Some of her blood got on his face, and he dropped his weapon.

"What have you done?" he asked through the ringing in her ear.

Something warm trickled from her smile.

"You said a cyng has to die. I pick me."

Her legs gave, but Xavier caught and lowered her to the floor almost too gently. She could feel nothing but the burn of his touch.

"You fool."

He backed away as though he felt it too and disappeared from her view. Her head craned, struggled. She touched the hole in her chest. Fleshy. Warm. But no pain. Her dress was stained an even darker red. Now everyone could see. She was never made of gold. She was made of blood and flesh and faults and fears.

Blake was the first to stumble over to her. Owen was right behind, crawling to her with his leg dragging behind him.

"No. Por favor, Cariño. Hold on. You're going to be fine."

Blake propped her head up. Tears plummeted from his eyes like the first drops of rain before a storm.

"Why the heck did you do that, Goldie? You choose me. Why did you save Bowmen?"

Owen held her hand with a trembling grip.

"She knew she made a mistake."

"Like choosing you would be any better."

"Please..." She held a hand to each of the boy's faces. "Stop fighting. You need to... work together. Please. I promised..."

Black and silver spots clouded her sight.

"Madre de Dios... Por favor..."

"There's so much blood..."

Her arms grew heavy again, and she struggled to keep her eyes open, her mind clear.

"Listen, you guys have to get out of here. Jack, are you there?"

"I'm here."

"Make sure Seane's ready with the car. Everyone has to get out. I think if you use me as a distraction, you could slip away—"

"We have to..." Owen struggled. "We have to get you to..."

Her ears rang again, and a curtain threatened to lower over her.

"I said listen, dammit!" She coughed blood and gasped for air, clinging to both boys. "Take my phone. I have a recording of Xavier confessing to some shady stuff. And with my blood all over this place, it should be decent proof of who killed me. Take the evidence to the police. Xavier will have to lay low, and the authorities will have their attention diverted. You need to get out of town and contact your elders. Gather ten times the number of men before you attack the North again. Don't be unprepared this time."

"Goldie, stop. Please. You're losing too much blood."

Did they hear that? Would they remember the plan? Her eyes closed, and she stopped struggling. Even if they did not, Mr President would be there for them. He would know what to do.

The moments that followed blurred with forgotten memories. Strong hands pulled her out from under the bed. She was scooped up and into a warm embrace. I'm too late. I'm sorry, Marigold.

There was shouting. Orders. She was carried off with people all around. Doors opened and slammed. Was that Jessy's voice? Uncle Anton? No way they were here. She must have been hallucinating.

"She needs a transfusion."

"She can't have that."

"She must."

Let me go, Amber wished to say. Let me die while everyone still thinks of me as a hero. Dying while loved would be so much easier than living while hated. She did not want to be hated. Please. Stop. She was not the girl they mourned for.

And she feared who would wake up if she survived.

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