Chapter 34
Chapter
Thirty-Four
- LORA -
W yntra’s main street bears the flag of the Lux Aester. The blue banners embroidered with a sun flutter in the salt-tinged breeze, bright against the heavy, indigo clouds that block out most of the late morning light. The air promises oncoming lightning. The electricity causes Lora's hair to stand up on her arms as she walks across the cobblestone. Before the Trials started, she tried to imagine her clan’s symbol flying in victory, but she never could envision it. Perhaps, she always knew she would not be enough.
People wander in and out of the shops that line the main street, flowing around Lora and her Five like a steady river. This is the street Lora has traversed thousands of times. As a child, she picked flowers in the narrow garden beds at the center of the street. She weaved them into crowns she never wore, lest her mother see. She threw coins in the fountains that mark every cross street, making wishing she knew wouldn’t come true. The shops that line the outskirts are the ones Lora explored as a child, generally with a guard or Fennix or Onanna following her, because her mother couldn't be bothered to spend time with her child. On the corner lies the small, but perfect public library where Lora found friends in the form of characters in books.
This city should be her home, but she’s never felt like it was, even as a child. Now, with the strange faces clogging the streets, this place feels even less friendly. The crowd has been brought here for the ceremonies and celebrations to follow. Today will be the official declaration of the winner and tomorrow will be the coronation. But none of it can begin until Lora, and the rest of the victors who remain alive, arrive.
Still, Lora and her Five have taken their time getting here. They even stopped to spend the night at the Pink Elk. There, Yris’s messenger hawk found Lora. She barely glanced at the first three words scrawled on the paper— Where are you? —before she crumbled it and tossed it aside. Lora leaned back in her chair and watched as Ayc and Bronwen guided a tipsy Tavish to a makeshift stage to do an uproarious rendition of a popular Sal Maris song. Xylie happily stimmed, moving her head and shifting in her seat in a way that was almost dancing. Peregrin rested their feet on another chair, nursing a mug of tea infused with whiskey, and basked in the joy with Lora, because they both knew tomorrow would be a dark day. But that was tomorrow’s problem.
Tomorrow, though, is here now.
Bronwen stays at Lora’s elbow as they walk down the road, toward the castle gates at the end of the road. The other Five form a line behind them, with Peregrin aboard Tempest bringing up the rear. Some of crowd fall silent as they pass by. Some openly gawk. She pretends not to notice. This crowd seems more subdued than others who have come for celebrations in the city. Only the ones decked in a particular shade of blue are wearing smiles. One male in Noxumbra black is ranting at someone who runs a stall of ale. He’s loud enough that most of the people can hear his condemnation of Marcellus. The shop owner’s face is strained as he offers a mug. A Lux Aester male glares over his shoulder in their direction.
Lora wonders what will become of the man. He may be in stocks as soon as Marcellus is crowned. That’s what powerful, cruel rulers do. That’s what Lora’s mother would do. Criticism can never be tolerated by those who fear to lose control.
As they crest the top of the hill, the castle gates part for Lora, directed by the castle guards above.
“Tell the Sovereign her daughter is here,” one of the guards says.
Lora’s feet falter, but Bronwen presses two fingers to her elbow. Today, it steadies Lora. She lifts her chin as she enters the entry hall, but her fingers nervously move to the cord she now wears around her neck. She tugs, feeling the weight of the leviathan’s tooth she has tucked beneath her armor. It scrapes against the skin between her breasts.
The entry hall basks in the multi-colored light cast by the stained glass high above them—a map of Everadyn. Straight ahead is the door to the great hall, towering as high as the entry doors. A cluster of people have gathered before it. She thinks she catches a glimpse of Adamant armor and rainbow chain mail, but before she can approach, she hears her name called from the hallway to her right .
“Finally,” says a voice that makes Lora go instantly cold. She suspects most people don't feel that way when they hear their mother’s voice, but it’s a survival instinct Lora can’t shake. But there is something else that is stronger now. A rage that roars and crackles, that threatens to make her eyes burn silver. Lora has always been angry at her mother, but it was a fire before. Now, after all the truths uncovered during the Trials, it is an inferno.
Yris wears a regal, black, velvet gown much too dark for her complexion. Her hair is pulled high, through the golden circlet of her crown. It’s the last day that she will wear it.
“You should have been here yesterday,” Yris says, surveying Lora. She scowls, and Lora wonders what it is she’s found displeasing this time. The dust on her armor, the way she wears her hair unbound, or just everything in general.
Lora doesn’t give Yris the chance to tell her. “We’re here now.”
“I can see that.” Yris sweeps her scowl over Lora’s Five. Tempest has remained outside, but Saga stands at Tavish’s side. The dog’s hackles rise, and he growls lowly.
“Easy, Saga,” Tavish says, with a comforting pat, but Ayc praises, “Good dog.”
Lora bites the inside of her lip to keep from smiling as Yris shoots Ayc a glare. He grins cheekily back, and Lora is glad to see it. His defiance can still come with consequences, but at least now, he can choose his risks.
“The ceremony is starting now,” Yris says.
Lora’s heart beats a warning. “Now?”
“Yes. It was meant to be last night, but you could not be bothered to get here on time so it had to be postponed. You can join the other victors and wait for your cue to come in. When you face Marcellus, you will bow and forfeit your claim to Sovereignty, do you understand?”
Lora grinds her teeth. The idea of bowing makes her want to rip off her own skin, but she forces out the words. "I understand.”
Yris steps closer until only a knife’s width separates them. Even though they are equal in height now, Yris seems to look down her nose at Lora as if she were still a small child. There’s a shift of fabric behind Lora. One or more of her Five are ready to defend her. She makes a flicking motion with her hand, and they still.
“It should have been you up there,” Yris snarls, showing her teeth. She keeps her voice low. “If only you’d?—”
“If only I’d what , Mother?” Lora says without flinching, without attempting to lower her voice. “Accepted a deal with the Drakr? I’m not a cheater like you.”
Yris’s gaze shifts toward the group standing before the entrance to the great hall. Lora identifies them this time. It's Wylder and Sterling… and Marcellus, standing near the guards stationed at the door. They all stare back down the hall at Lora and her mother.
Yris draws herself up taller. She appears unphased by the accusation Lora has just hurled, but she soothes her hands over the waist of her dress, even though the fabric still lies perfectly. A subtle tell, but one, nonetheless. Yris curls her upper lip back, baring the points of her teeth. “I’ll deal with?—"
“Run along, Mother,” Lora interrupts again. She allows herself to focus on the anger, enough that her vision flashes a silver warning. “Your people are waiting.”
Yris sniffs and lifts her head. She cuts one last glare at Lora’s Five. “Have your Five use the side entrance. ”
Yris marches toward the doors, her heels clattering on the stone. Her crown still gleams in the light of torches, reflecting shades of green and blue back from the stained glass. Disgust boils on Lora’s tongue as Marcellus takes his place at Yris’s side. The doors of the great hall swing open, revealing an aisle lined with flagpoles that interchange the Noxumbra and Lux Aester symbols and a crowd that gathers on either side of it. Marcellus raises his arm above his head to display his chronicler and enters as the crowd cheers. The guards close the door behind them, dimming the sound.
Wylder and Sterling remain outside, waiting for Lora to join them. She will be expected to walk in, declare her allegiance to Marcellus, and bow at his feet.
I can’t. I won’t.
Her hands shake, and she grasps the hilts of her twin swords to steady herself.
“It’s just a bit of theater, Lora,” Bronwen whispers, stepping back to Lora’s side. “That’s all.”
“I know,” Lora says calmly, like the idea doesn’t make her skin feel like it’s peeling from her sinew. She hates theater, even though most of her life feels like theater. She steels herself with a breath and turns toward her Five.
“I will see you all in there. And—” She hesitates as an ocean of emotion crashes through her chest. They look back at her as though nothing has changed over the last few days, without a trace of disappointment. Like she did not utterly fail them. And she is overwhelmed that she found Five talented, kind, and good people who were willing to follow her. If she’d become Sovereign, all of them would have made Everadyn better. They would have changed the world.
She clears her throat. “Thank you all. For everything.” The words are not enough, so she forces a smile, but it’s so uncharacteristic that Bronwen frowns at her, concern deepening the lines of her face.
“Hurry,” Lora prompts them.
Bronwen hesitates, then leads the way down the hallway. As they pass, Xylie bumps her shoulder against Lora’s arm and Peregrin studies her from the corner of a narrowed eye, like they know what she has planned. Tavish murmurs, “Still waters, Lora” a Sal Maris expression that wishes good fortune. Saga wags his tail as he leads Tavish away.
Ayc pauses before Lora. She doesn’t face him at first, watching the others go, watching her cousin longest.
“Keep looking after Xylie,” Lora says.
“I’ll be looking after you ,” Ayc says softly, solemnly.
She finally meets his eyes. The blue looks too dark in here, like a troubled sea, even as a hint of a smile plays on his lips. He reaches forward and runs the cord around her neck between his fingers. She shivers as his soft skin brushes against her neck, right where her pulse hammers, right where he kissed her and growled her name. She’s certain he doesn’t remember, and she certainly can’t judge his feelings from a kiss that was stolen out of desperation and illness and sedative tonics.
Even if it was a kiss that will haunt her forever.
Even if she wants to steal just one more right now.
He tugs on the cord, a reminder. “Good luck in there, villainess.”
She nods, knowing what he means. He says the name—villainess—with a tone of affection, and she lets it grant her courage.
He pries himself away, his face contorting like it pains him to do so, and she forces herself not to watch him walk away. She listens to the fading of his footsteps, before joining Wylder and Sterling at the door. Inside the great hall, Lora can hear her mother’s amplified voice introducing Marcellus as the winner. Her stomach roils, but she manages to nod to Sterling. It takes a little more effort to look at Wylder. He’s already staring at her.
He truly is handsome, with his black hair and chiseled features. There was a time she told herself she was in love with him, because he was everything she has been conditioned to want. Strong, unbreakable, ruthless. She chased sparks of emotions and convinced herself they were enough to keep her warm, even as they bounced in and out of a relationship. But when his poison hit her, and she grew cold at his betrayal, she realized she never was that warm to begin with.
It wasn’t nothing. If she felt nothing, his actions wouldn’t have hurt. But whatever she felt toward him disappeared like a candle snuffed out in the wind, far too easily. If she’s honest with herself, that candle was nothing compared to the wildfires that she’s felt. Those feelings are impossible to put out, no matter how hard she tries.
Now, she’s not sure what she feels for Wylder, except, perhaps, pity.
“I’m sorry about your brother,” Lora says.
He winces, like it hurts. Of course it does. She still hasn’t told Bronwen what happened to Ryker. She’s trying to only deal out one tragedy at a time.
“What happened?” Lora asks.
“The same thing that happened to Ruatha and all of her Five,” he seethes. “Drakr.”
Guilt creeps over her skin like wandering fingertips. Perhaps, Lora should have sent a message to Wylder and warn him of the deal Marcellus made. She’s not sure why she didn’t, why she never even thought about it. But it’s too late now.
“I’m sorry,” she says again. “Your brother was a good soul.”
His throat bobs as he swallows, and he turns away without another word.
A voice clears to gain Lora’s attention. “My lady, your weapons cannot enter with you,” one of the guards by the door says.
Lora removes her weapons swiftly—the two swords at her hips, as well as the daggers from her side and boot. The guard raises his hand, and a sensation like a shiver passes over her. A spell to ensure she’s armed with nothing. The guard places her weapons carefully in a nearby cupboard, kept in the hall for this purpose, already filled with weapons from the guests. “You can have them when you leave.”
Lora grunts, but silently says goodbye to the weapons that have served her well.
Within the great hall, Yris calls, “I present our remaining victors.”
“Let’s get this over,” Wylder says.
Sterling murmurs their assent, and Lora shoves the doors open. The three of them enter side by side, their heads held high. The great hall is darker than normal. The storm has rolled in and stolen the light that would normally pour through the stained glass above. Candelabras scatter throughout the room, casting shadows over the crowd as they applaud, a bit solemnly. In a section of earth-colored clothing, Lora spots the familiar leaf-embroidered cloak that wraps around her grandmother’s shoulders. Lora looks away before she can meet Hellevi’s eyes. Lora didn't think her grandmother would come, and she wishes she hadn’t. She doesn’t want her grandmother to see this.
Marcellus waits for them at the head of the great hall, where the head table and Sovereign throne has been removed and replaced with a dais. Yris has stepped to the side, while Marcellus remains at the center. He grins at the victors as they approach. Lora’s Five wait at the very front of the crowd, even Xylie with the noise-dulling cuffs on her ears. As Lora passes them, they all lay their hand on their chests. They are with her. She draws comfort in that.
The three come to a stop before the dais. Marcellus positions himself before Sterling first, and his lip curls in disdain as Sterling takes a knee. “I recognize your worthiness as Sovereign,” Sterling says.
Marcellus moves to Wylder, who copies the action. Anyone who didn't know him might have thought it gracious, but Lora hears the tension in his voice, notes the way he closes his eyes to keep the silver from showing. And then Marcellus approaches Lora, his smile twisting even wider.
Lightning flashes, light momentarily filling the room from above. It blanches out Marcellus’s pale face, until he looks like a smiling skull. Like the wraiths on Somnia Ignis who taunted Lora with her father’s voice.
He speaks low enough that no one else can hear anything more than a murmur, “Loraphne, I told you once I’d enjoy seeing you bow.”.
And Lora said she’d rather be dead. She meant it.
He leans even closer, his breath hot on her cheek as he whispers in her ear. “Soon, I will be the most powerful Sovereign that has ever reigned. I will be a god.”
Hate erupts in her veins, as outside thunder rumbles, rattling the windows above. The crowd's attention gnaws like teeth at her back, waiting for her to bow, for her to accept defeat graciously. That’s what a good, honest hero would do. But the stone of the fossil tooth against her sternum draws her back to the conversation she had with Ayc last night. He caught her alone in the hallway of the inn, the last two to find their rooms.
He pulled the tooth from around his neck and held it out to her. She only frowned at it.
“Did you know that a leviathan was said to be the most fearsome creature that has ever existed?” he asked. “They were glorious, terrifying, and mighty, all at once.”
“I’ve heard that,” Lora said, preparing herself for a terrible punchline.
“They’re wrong. A leviathan isn’t the most fearsome creature that has ever lived on land or sea. You are.”
Lora’s tongue curled, ready to snap back at him out of habit. But he didn't say it like an insult. He said it like a compliment. Glorious, terrifying, mighty. Lora wondered if that was truly how he saw her. Because she liked the sound of it.
He stepped closer and took her hand, pressing the tooth into it. He folded her fingers around it. Her curled fist fit only over the end of it, while the point extended outward, like a small, curved dagger. He covered her thumb with his and brushed it against the tooth’s tip, letting its sharpness scrape against her sensitive skin. “You’re the villainess, Lora. Marcellus doesn’t get to be the villain of this story, and he doesn’t get to win.”
He locked onto her eyes then, and she saw it there, something she’d never seen in his eyes. A little bit of wickedness. And she understood exactly what he meant .
He left her then, alone in the hallway with a leviathan’s tooth and a choice. A choice a hero would never consider. A choice she made long before she stepped into the great hall today.
She will not bow, and neither will her people.
She yanks the cord at her neck until the fossil rises from her armor and the cord snaps. She tosses the tooth into the air to adjust her grip and catches it so it forms that same curved dagger in her hand. And then she drives the point straight into Marcellus’s throat.