Chapter 36
Chapter
Thirty-Six
- LORA -
A rainbow of glowing gems wraps around Lora’s wrist, and beneath the bracelet, her forearm is no longer tattooed with the list of quests. She blinks at it, unable to believe the sight. “I— I don’t understand.”
“You upturned the hands of fate.” Ayc’s grin rises on his face, blood-stained just like her own, and that smile lights up the room. It shines brighter than the sun. “Marcellus was destined to be Sovereign, and you changed destiny itself. You’ve won!”
No, that can’t be right. Lora didn't drive that tooth into Marcellus’s neck to steal his claim to Sovereignty. She did it to spare her people from the fate of having him as their ruler. And yet, the chronicler’s magic seems to recognize that the game was still ongoing.
The murmur of the crowd grows louder now, a dozen voices rising in bewilderment, in excitement, in disgust.
“But the Trials were over,” someone yells from the crowd, someone who is, unsurprisingly, dressed in Lux Aester blue. They don't come forward, hiding within the crowd. “She can't win through villainy.”
From her place within the cluster of Yris’s Five at the front of the crowd, Onanna steps forward. Silver eyes burn from the shadow of her hood, the only thing visible on her cloaked frame. “I have studied every article that discusses the Trials. The rules have been written for centuries. All victors must yield their claim on Sovereignty by recognizing the winner, before the Trials can officially close. Loraphne did not yield her claim. She did not bow. And she is now the only victor left who has completed all seven quests and demonstrated worthiness.”
The crowd rumbles like the thunder that roils outside. The sound echoes in Lora’s ears, but it cuts off as Wylder steps before Lora and flings himself down to his knees. “Loraphne, I recognize your worthiness as Sovereign.”
Lora’s breath catches. This can’t ? —
Sterling kneels beside Wylder and repeats the words. The glow of Lora’s chronicler shines even brighter, the light beaming in all directions, until all that have gathered can witness it.
Yris lifts her voice. “My dear Everadyn fae, I present your next Sovereign, my daughter, Loraphne.”
For the first time, when Lora’s mother gazes upon her, she smiles like she’s proud. While many in the crowd remain silent, many more cheer, until it’s loud enough to rattle the glass that bears the symbol of all seven clans. No one else moves toward Lora or offers a protest, perhaps because they see it’s inevitable, or perhaps, because Ayc, a Drakr, stands at her elbow.
Lora still cannot bring herself to look at her grandmother, who has witnessed her win through treachery, not worthiness. Peregrin and Xylie clap. Bronwen calls Lora’s name, and Tavish repeats it with a long whistle, and soon her name is being chanted.
The shock fades into grim realization. Lora has done it. She has won the Trials and will reign as the next Sovereign of Everadyn. She has completed the destiny she was born for and carried on her family’s legacy. But no joy fills her heart. Ice spreads along her skin, and she fights not to shiver or shake.
Sovereignty is mine.
It’s only then she realizes that she never wanted it at all.
- AYC -
Something is wrong with Lora.
Ayc watches her as people cheer her name, and he notices the shift. It’s not a flicker of emotion or a change in posture. She holds her head like she already wears a crown, and her entire demeanor is one of unbreakable stone. It’s not something Ayc can see. But he feels it.
He sweeps forward and keeps his voice low, so even Wylder and Sterling, who stand closest, cannot hear. “I think now is the time you should wave goodbye and make a dramatic exit.”
It unfreezes her. She waves and heads toward a door behind the dais, away from the crowd. The crowd continues to cheer as Ayc follows. The door slams behind them and muffles the sound. Her hands flutter at her side, trembling like the first stone before a landslide. Ayc’s normal restraint fractures, and he instinctively lays a hand on her back.
“Come with me.”
She doesn’t pull away. In fact, as he guides her down the hall toward his kitchen, Lora lists toward his side, almost leaning against his shoulder. The hallways are empty, and they go unnoticed until they are beyond the safety of his kitchen door. It’s dark within the kitchen, rain beating at his one window. He leaves Lora’s side to turn on the lamp, which fills the space with a dim, orange glow.
He glances around the small kitchen, this place that has been both his prison and his home. A thin flutter of flour still dances in the air. It doesn't feel possible that it has only been a week since he left. So much has happened. He has died and come back and everything feels different.
He feels different. He’s no longer the ideological hero who left here. He’s let everyone see the darkness within him, the villain he feared he would become.
He stares at Irving’s sword that he still holds, unsure what to do with it, before carelessly tossing it onto the counter. Ayc returns to Lora, who leans against the door. She stares blankly at the floor, her color ashen, like she’s fading fast. He slips his hands into his pockets to keep from touching her again.
“I would ask you if you’re all right,” Ayc says gently, “but I know you’re not. What is it?”
She’s silent for so long, Ayc thinks she won’t tell him. That despite everything, mountains of rubble still exist between them. But finally, she speaks, her voice scarcely above the volume of a hummingbird’s wings. “I didn’t think it would end this way. With me as Sovereign. I thought I would be executed come tomorrow. ”
“I thought I would die with you,” Ayc replies, his voice just as quiet.
She draws in a soft breath and looks up at him, the way she looked at him at her grandmother’s house. The way that makes his heart stand still and his whole world tip sideways. But mercifully, she glares down at the floor just as swiftly. “I swore I wouldn’t rule like my mother, but I gained my Sovereignty through treachery. I cheated. Just like her.”
“Lora, you were willing to sacrifice your life to save your people a terrible fate. I think that makes you worthy to lead them.”
She scoffs. “So you don’t think I’m a villain?”
Hero. Villain. Ayc thought he understood those two terms clearly, but now they blur together in his head. Perhaps, if there is a villain within Ayc, there is a hero within Lora. More than perhaps. He has seen it, and it is breathtaking. Sometimes, she is dark as night, and sometimes, she is bright as the sun. And he finds it beautiful—every part of her.
Perhaps, the line drawn between heroes and villains does not account for this: there’s bad in all of us, so there must also be good. At the end of the day, perhaps which outweighs which matters little. The most important thing is what we use all the good and all the bad parts of ourselves to fight for. What we choose to save, and what we choose to destroy, and what we ruin ourselves for.
“If what you did is villainy, then well…” Ayc shrugs. “Maybe you’re the villain we need.”
He isn’t sure it’s the right thing to say, but she straightens, no longer leaning against the door. A little bit of confidence steels her expression. “Not everyone will accept my rule. The Lux Aester are powerful. They will attempt to overthrow me.”
“They can try.” Anger flares through him at the very idea anyone might touch her, and his vision flashes red once more. Lora presses her eyes closed, shielding against the sight. An invisible fist clenches around his chest. The blood on his face singes his skin; his wrists feel naked without his bracelets. He leaves Lora at the door, grabs a dishcloth from a nearby drawer, and wets it at the sink. He scrubs at his cheeks, his neck, his hands, the white cloth turning a rusty brown.
The shadows seem to creep forward from the corners, eating at the orange light.
Lora’s feet fall soft on the stone as she approaches. “Thank you for doing what you did in there. It was foolish, but I’m grateful, nonetheless.”
Ayc rinses the cloth in cool water, wrings it out, and offers it to Lora. “I suppose you hate me even more now.”
She makes a small sound, almost a laugh, as she accepts the cloth. But instead of cleaning her own face, she uses it to sweep at a place on his chin, a spot he must have missed.
“I’ve tried hating you, Ayc,” she says, and she’s close enough the breath of her words brush his neck. “I’m quite bad at it.”
His nerves rattle and burn at her nearness. He barely contains the tremor in his voice. “Even though I’m a monster?”
Lora rolls her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. Drakr are people, not monsters. People who have chosen to do monstrous things, but people, nonetheless. And you? You’re still a cinnamon roll. Good, through and through.”
He draws a breath through his nose to steady himself. It doesn’t help, because the air smells like anise. Like flour and Xylie’s last brew of potions and Lora’s hair. He leans back against the sink to add a little distance and pulls his bracelets from his pockets. The icy pulse of his power, like cool shadow coats his skin, fades as the bracelet’s fasten. The storm outside must shift, though the rhythm of the rain doesn’t change, because the light in the kitchen grows brighter.
As Lora scrubs at Marcellus’s blood on her face, Ayc feels her gaze trace over him, like the soft caress of her nails. The lines of his face, the curve of his ears, his decidedly human features. She is still standing far too close, close enough he wraps his hand around the edge of the sink to keep from reaching out. She parts her lips as though she might say something, but the door flies open and a cluster of bodies tumble inside—the rest of Lora’s Five. They leave the door gaping as they all scramble in.
Lora tosses the rag into the sink and steps away from Ayc. He should feel relieved, but his nerves cry out even louder at the distance. He can’t bear to have her close, but it’s worse to have her far.
“By the divine, there you are!” Bronwen breaks away from the others and rushes toward Lora. She flings her arms around her. “You did it, Lora! You’re Sovereign.”
Lora’s shoulders stiffen, but if Bronwen notices—and surely she does—she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she pulls back to look at Ayc. They are all focused on him now—Peregrin leaning on their cane, Tavish with puckered cheeks, Saga with his head cocked, and Xylie with her arms clamped over her chest. Like she’s furious.
A beat of silence passes. Ayc waits for it—the downfall, the judgment, everything he knew would come if he ever showed his truth.
“That was a great line, by the way,” Bronwen says, her wide grin never wavering. She lowers her voice, mocking Ayc’s deep, monstrous growl. “‘Who says I’m human?’”
Tavish’s puckered cheeks release in a burst of laughter. “I thought it was a tremendous performance, truly.”
Even Peregrin cracks a small smile. “I’m proud of you, boy.”
Emotion threatens to strangle Ayc, but he looks at Xylie who is still fixated on her feet. “Xylie, you look angry.”
Her hands snap in the air. “Of course, I’m furious. I can't believe I didn't see it!”
“Xylie, I-I’m sorry.” He is, though being a Drakr isn’t something he can fix. “I?—”
She shoots him a look so sharp it cuts him off. “Don’t. Don’t you dare be sorry for who you are. Because if you think I’m mad at you because you’re a Drakr, you’re more a fool than I’ve always thought you.”
Ayc blinks. “Then why are you mad at me?”
“Aren’t you listening? I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at me.” She stabs a finger into her own chest. “I should have figured it out. It was so obvious and I just didn’t see it. You wouldn’t tell me how you did the disappearing trick, because it wasn’t ever a fucking trick.”
Ayc throws his head back and laughs. Profound relief soars over him, lightening an invisible weight on his shoulders. All these years of hiding it from everyone but Peregrin, of fearing the hate and retribution, and these ridiculous Five act like this. Like it means nothing. Like it hasn’t, at all, changed the way they see him.
“Stop laughing.” Xylie closes the distance between them and punches him in the arm. Even though she puts force behind it, it doesn’t hurt. At all. It only makes him laugh harder.
“So I guess you lied about your father?” Bronwen asks when he reins himself in.
“Bronwen,” Lora says beneath her breath, “mind your own business.”
Bronwen winces. “Sorry. You don’t have to answer that, Ayc. She’s right. It’s not my business.”
But Ayc has been wound tight in secrets for so many years. It feels good to let them unravel, like he can finally, fully breathe. “I don’t know who he was. I only know that he was Drakr, and little else. When I was little, I kept disappearing at night and scaring both myself and my mother. Eventually, I figured out the connection between what I could do in the shadows and the stories I knew of the Drakr. Still, my mother never really told me much.”
That was generous. His mother told him nothing . Ayc was far too young when his mother died to realize the full implications of his birth. What must have happened to her. How she would have had every right to hate Ayc, to see him as a reminder of trauma. But she loved him almost too much. His father was a monster, and Ayc has always feared he is one, too.
But the Five in the room ease that fear.
“Bet you were good at hide and seek as a kid, though, huh?” Tavish says.
“Not really,” Ayc says. “I couldn’t control it when I was young. I would do it randomly all the time, until my mother gave me these.” He lifts his wrists to show his bracelets.
Xylie grabs one of his forearms and leans close to study the bracelet. She draws a finger over the metal and the faded bear carving. “Tungsten,” she signs.
“Yes, it’s tungsten,” Ayc says. “To shackle the monster within, I suppose.” Bitterness sneaks into his tone, and he laughs to disguise it.
Lora snorts, and Bronwen says, “You’re joking, right?”
Ayc frowns. “No.”
“Ayc,” Lora says, “you’d have to wrap an adult Drakr completely in tungsten chains to weaken them. Given, you only share half the blood. But you can go fully invisible in the smallest bit of shadow, which mean you’ve inherited a strong affinity for shadow.”
He must be imagining the awe in Lora’s voice. He knows enough about Drakr to realize that’s what his gift is called. Shadow affinity. The way sorcerers have affinity for magic and can manipulate it, so Drakr have affinity to shadow. Not every Drakr possesses it–though most of those conscripted into the Drakr armies do–and not all of them possess it to the same degree. It was why the Drakr in the Forest of Elodie didn’t turn invisible when they fought Lora and Ayc. Even with the rain, there was too much light. Some Drakr can only turn invisible in the total darkness of night. Ayc needs only a bit of the shadow to fade.
“What’s your point?” Ayc asks.
“The point is I don’t believe that little bit of tungsten weakens you at all,” Lora explains. “Besides, when you injured your hands in Somnia Ignis you were able to heal. Xylie's potions are good. They aren't so good you should have healed that quickly. If the tungsten did anything, it would have, in theory, suppressed that ability, too."
“But,” Ayc protests, “when I was a child, before I learned to control it, it prevented me from disappearing. ”
“Maybe, it did. But you’re not a child anymore. Have you ever tried to go invisible with the bracelets still on?”
Ayc shakes his head.
“The only way your bracelets could suppress all your innate abilities is if they were enchanted with very powerful magic,” Bronwen says. “Suppressing some of your innate abilities, while keeping your healing abilities intact, that would…” She trails off and shakes her head. “Divine, very, very few sorcerers could manage that.”
“But if they were enchanted, you’d sense it, wouldn’t you?" Lora asks.
“Unless the caster took great pains to hide it." Bronwen frowns down at the bracelets, reaching toward Ayc’s left wrist before dropping her hand. “But an object like that would have cost as much as a palace.”
“That’s not possible,” Ayc says. “My mom was a baker.”
Her smile returns quickly. “Then no, it’s not possible.”
Ayc fiddles with a bracelet’s buckle, undoing it and then doing it once more. He’s not sure what to believe. The bracelets have felt like a dividing line—a barrier between the man and the monster. He’s believed that it has protected him and those around him. He’s seen red in his vision, in moments of anger and moments of passion, but no one else has seen. His power feels as distant as an echo deep within him, but perhaps, it’s been his imagination all this time. Perhaps, it protected him, because he needed it to.
Ayc looks at Peregrin. They're a warrior. They would have known the limitations of tungsten.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Ayc asks.
Peregrin shrugs. “You were a boy afraid of his own shadow and the bracelets comforted you. What did you want me to say? ”
“Perhaps, Peregrin, you might have told me the truth.” The cold voice comes like a blizzard, freezing the room as Yris sweeps into the kitchen. Ayc tenses and Xylie slides behind him. Peregrin’s jaw tightens, and Tavish looks like he’s swallowed a lemon drop whole.
“Mother,” Lora greets coolly, stepping forward to block Yris’s approach.
Yris keeps her narrowed eyes fixed on Peregrin. “I always suspected you were protecting the boy. Little good that it did him.”
Peregrin doesn't take the bait and instead, glares directly at Yris, an advert sign of defiance they never demonstrated before. Yris flexes her fingers, her red nails freshly sharpened, like she’s considering her punishment.
Ayc bolts a step forward, past Lora, and snaps, “What do you want, Yris?”
She swings toward him. Ayc digs his heels into the floor against the desire to run. He reminds himself that she no longer holds any power over him and lifts his jaw.
“I always suspected you to be a liar, but I could never prove it,” Yris says. “Tell me, did that man who lied for you ten years ago know you were a Drakr? If he did, why would he have ever saved you?”
“Perhaps because he was being kind,” Ayc says. “Something you know little about.”
Yris flicks a wrist. “It scarcely matters. You’re under my control and will continue to be under Loraphne’s. You will be a fantastic weapon. A slaughterer of our enemies.”
“No.” The one word tastes like buttercream on Ayc's tongue—rich and smooth.
“Excuse me!” she snarls.
Ayc grins. “I said no. ”
“You will have no choice. I am commanding it.”
Lora shifts, placing herself between Yris and Ayc once more. “He is no longer Bound to anyone. The Binding was Severed.”
Ayc wishes he could draw or paint or even etch stone, because the look on Yris’s face—her wide eyes and twisted lips—deserves to be preserved for all of prosperity to see.
“I purchased a Severing stone,” Lora explains. “If he follows me, it will be willingly.”
Rage contorts Yris’s face, twisting the beautiful features into something grotesque. The only true monster Ayc knows. “You foolish girl,” she growls through bared teeth.
Lora bares her teeth right back. “I am not a girl. I am Sovereign .”
“Not until tomorrow.”
Lora lifts her chin high, looking more regal and powerful than the woman before her. “Yes, tomorrow I will be Sovereign. And you will be nothing. Not Sovereign, and in case you thought you’d rule over me, you won’t be my mother either. You will pack up your belongings, and you will leave. I do not care where you go, but it will not be here. This is my castle now.”
Yris hides the break in her stone well, but Ayc sees the crack—the flicker of panic and defeat that are the cake to the icing of his own defiance.
“Careful, daughter,” she warns, snapping her mask back into place. “With how you won, there are many people who won't accept your rule. They will take it from you.”
“They can try,” Lora repeats Ayc’s earlier words, silver lightning crackling through her eyes. “Ayc,” she adds, “this is your kitchen. Do you want Yris here?”
“No,” Ayc replies. “I don’t. ”
“Then, Yris,” Lora commands, “ get out. ”
Yris shows her fangs for a long moment more. She looks to Bronwen, who wiggles her fingers in a mocking wave, and then to Peregrin who no longer fears meeting her gaze. Yris storms away. Tavish, who stands closest to the door, kicks it shut behind her.
When Lora faces Ayc again, her chin is still held high, and she is so beautiful his chest aches. The dim light settles over her hair like a golden crown, like she is already a queen.
And there is no one more worthy.