Chapter 20
Lara, Anya, and I met that evening in Lara’s chambers, during the lull between the house dinner and my sparring session with Kallen.
Lara lounged on the sofa in a silky white robe embroidered with scarlet flowers, drinking wine, while I sat cross-legged on the floor next to a pile of books Gweneira had sent Lara.
Anya was pacing, listening to the conversation.
Anya had been distant ever since the first group of faeries had joined Blood House, going out of her way to avoid them—which meant avoiding me, since I barely had a moment alone these days.
It was as if, once the shock of seeing me nearly die had worn off, she’d retreated inside herself.
She rarely answered my knocks or emerged from her room.
I’d left flowers, books, blankets, and all her favorite foods outside her door, but she never acknowledged the offerings.
She was here now, though. Restless and mostly silent, but here. So I told them about my conversation with Imogen—leaving out what she’d begun to offer me at the end—hoping something would be enough to spark interest in Anya’s closed-off gaze.
“Imogen doesn’t sound too bad,” Lara said when I was done. “She just wants us to dance, not die.”
“I think she’s willing to accept either.”
She shrugged. “Still, better a frivolous queen than a cruel one.”
“Don’t tell me you’re suddenly a supporter,” I said, appalled.
Lara traced the embroidery on her robe. “At this point, I don’t know if I care who rules Mistei. They’re all bad options.”
The words were jarring. I’d assumed Lara would want the rebel faction of Void, Fire, and Blood to win, even if the ruler we chose was an imperfect one. “I know you hate Drustan, but Mistei needs to change. You really think another Illusion ruler would be preferable to him or Hector?”
She shrugged again, still not looking at me. “I think you’re being too optimistic about how drastic the change will be under any ruler.”
Anya had stopped pacing. She turned to face us, arms crossed and face pensive. “Did Imogen support Osric?” she asked.
Lara looked surprised Anya had spoken. “I suppose. But we all had to, and Imogen more than most. She was part of his house.”
“Had to,” Anya echoed, picking at the sleeve of her gray shirt. She’d worn this same drab, baggy outfit yesterday, and the fabric was rumpled and sweat-stained.
“A house isn’t just a place to live,” Lara said. “It’s our identity. It’s our power. Who’s in charge of each house doesn’t matter in the long run—we can’t abandon where we come from.” Then she looked at me guiltily. “Except in extraordinary circumstances, I suppose.”
An uneasy feeling tightened my throat. For the first time, I questioned whether Lara would go back to Earth House if she could. If Oriana extended a hand…would Lara take it?
Oriana wasn’t going to extend a hand, though. I had, and Lara was here.
It still felt like I’d swallowed a thorn.
Anya was looking increasingly angry. She ran a hand over her shaved scalp, then turned abruptly to Lara’s dressing table to grab the decanter of wine. Rather than filling one of the spare glasses, she tipped it to her lips, drinking deeply. And she didn’t stop.
“Anya,” I said, scrambling to my feet.
“No!” She slammed the decanter back down. “Stop treating me like a child.”
The accusation stung. “I’m not. It’s just…”
“Just what?” When I took too long to formulate a response, Anya looked up at the ceiling and let out a ragged laugh.
“What a joke.” Then she focused on Lara.
“If it doesn’t matter who rules, then what does anything matter?
Or is the most important thing that you still get to wear jewels?
” She sneered. “Apathy is so pretty when you’re already rich. ”
Lara looked like she’d been slapped. “You know nothing about being Fae. You don’t understand.”
“Good. I don’t want to.” Anya grabbed the bottle by the neck, then stormed away, slamming the door behind her.
I got up to follow, but Lara’s voice stopped me. “You think she wants you chasing after her?”
“She’s my friend.”
“And I’m not?” Lara sighed. “Go on. She’ll be angry with you, and then you can come back.”
I hurried away, not wanting to think about how right Lara probably was.
Stop treating me like a child.
I wasn’t. I wasn’t . But as I headed towards Anya’s room, I thought how much I wanted to wrap her in a soft blanket, hand her a cup of tea, and tell her everything would be better in the morning.
I knocked on the door. Anya flung it open, bottle still in hand. A drop of wine trailed down her chin, and she wiped it away with the back of her hand. “What?”
“Do you want to talk?” I asked hesitantly.
Her eyes traveled over me, from the silver band securing my braid to the embroidered scarlet silk of my robe. “The princess wants to check in on her new subject?”
I flinched at the angry words. “It’s not like that.”
“Isn’t it?” Her hazel eyes were reddened, and there were purple smudges under them.
Her head looked vulnerable without her beautiful golden-brown hair, and the shiny pink mark on her cheek taunted me.
She’d refused to let me use magic on her, so I’d tried erasing one of my own scars last night with no success—there were apparently limits to what I could accomplish once a wound had healed on its own.
“You’re my friend,” I said. “I’m worried about you.”
“Worried,” she repeated. “And yet you keep inviting faeries into the house. Why, if not to build a kingdom to rule?”
Pain arrowed into my heart. This acid tone, this cynicism—this wasn’t Anya. She was hurt, though, and considering how she had suffered, it made sense she would be wary of the new faeries. “They needed a home, too,” I told her softly.
Her expression twisted into something vicious. “This isn’t a home.” Then she slammed the door in my face.
I stood there for a while, feeling like tiny knives had been jammed between my ribs.
Then I turned and trudged back to Lara, who had known all along how this was going to go.
Lara was sorting through the books when I returned. “That was fast,” she said.
I sagged against the wall, pressing the heels of my palms against my eyes. “She’s so angry.”
“You think she shouldn’t be?”
“No!” I dropped my hands, glaring at her. “She has every right to be angry. Just not…”
“Not at you,” Lara finished. “You, the Blood princess, who has all the power and magic she never will. You, who get to choose our new ruler.” Her face was too still, like she was forcing her own emotions beneath a mask.
It was too much. My eyes welled with tears. “Do you hate me, too?” I whispered. “For having all of this when you have…”
Lara’s lips pressed together. “I don’t hate you.”
“I didn’t ask for this,” I said, having the argument anyway.
“No, the Shards gave it to you. Because you were worthy. And I was not.”
The tears spilled over, trailing down my cheeks. “I think you’re worthy.”
“No, you don’t.” She shook her head when I started to argue.
“Or maybe I don’t. The point is, it doesn’t matter.
We’re here, aren’t we? You’re a princess, I’m a lady with no influence, and Anya wakes up screaming multiple times a night.
And it’s not any of our faults, but we can’t hurt the people whose fault it is. ”
I sank to the floor, bringing my knees up and wrapping my arms around them, wishing I could weep for a whole night and get the fear and grief wholly out.
But my tears were already drying, like my mind couldn’t let me linger in the emotion.
It was always forward, forward, forward, even though I had no idea how to navigate this new life.
If I’d never come to Mistei—if I’d tried harder to sell the dagger in Tumbledown before the solstice selection—none of this would have happened.
Anya and I could be roaming Enterra with money in our pockets.
Oriana wouldn’t have decided a human servant would be perfect for helping Lara cheat, and Lara would have ended up passing the trials on her own, the way she’d always been capable of.
The Nasties would have killed Osric instead, or maybe Elsmere’s soldiers would have done it at Samhain.
Selwyn might still be alive, too.
I leaned my head back against the wall, feeling the bite of shame. All my promises to be honest, and I was still keeping that secret because I was too weak to risk losing her.
“Maybe Anya’s right,” Lara said, pulling me from my thoughts. She grabbed a book off the stack, then curled up on the settee, opening it over her knee. “Maybe I am too apathetic about who rules Mistei.”
I bit my lip. “Do you want me to answer that?”
She gave me a dark look. “No.” There was a long pause. “Do you know what Torin and Rowena asked me at the garden party?”
I knew she’d left the conversation quickly, but not what it had entailed. “What?”
“If I imagined my existence to have any value.”
“What?”
She nodded. “I tried to ask them about their plans for Light House, and Torin said they didn’t speak with magicless outcasts. And then Rowena asked if I was embarrassed to show my face in public. And then Torin said…that.”
I wanted to gut them. “I’m so sorry.”
“What are you sorry for? It’s their cruelty.
” Her face was composed, but her grip on the book was too tight.
“We’re surrounded by people who think we’re nothing.
It’s hard not to feel that way, too.” I saw her swallow.
“You didn’t do this to me, Kenna. You didn’t do it to Anya, either, and she knows that. You just need to give her space.”
I blinked back the burn in my eyes, then nodded.
Knowing something and truly believing it were two different things.
Anya and I had spent most of our lives at each other’s sides.
She knew I loved her. But Osric had ripped away the part of her that truly believed in the goodness at the heart of all things, and I didn’t know what it would take to restore it.