Chapter 35
Lara and I dismissed our handmaidens and prepared for the masquerade together. I did her hair before she did mine, and we talked about impossible choices.
“How do you feel now that it’s done?” she asked as she tucked a ruby-tipped pin into the bundle of braids at the back of my head. She’d secured the top half of my hair, leaving the rest to hang free.
“It’s not done yet,” I said, staring at myself in the mirror.
We were both still wearing dressing robes, and my face was clean of makeup, since I’d be reapplying it to match my ball gown.
There were fatigued shadows under my eyes, and I had the feeling of being two people in one body—the princess and the peasant.
“It won’t be done until after midnight.”
I’d sent letters to Drustan, Hector, and Gweneira, calling a meeting of our alliance after the masquerade ball. Five hours from now, I would tell them Hector would be our new king, and we would all find out how good our word was.
“The decision is made, though,” she said. “It has to be a relief.”
“It is. But I’m afraid, too, because I don’t know how Drustan and Gweneira will react.” I’d seen a new side to Drustan today. He’d shown me something real, something ugly, and there was a bitter irony in his truth—the one thing I’d wanted from him—being what finally drove me away.
I comforted myself with the thought of Hector’s changelings and his promise that I might not always agree with him and he might not always be wise, but his reasons were good, and we could figure out the rest together. That was a foundation a future could be built on.
Mine by right wasn’t.
“Do you worry about Gweneira’s reaction?” I asked softly, meeting Lara’s eyes in the mirror.
Her lips pressed together. “If she doesn’t accept this, she isn’t who I thought she was.”
It was the closest we’d gotten to speaking about her feelings for Gweneira.
We’d talked about Kallen—Lara did, in fact, question my sanity, though she said that was hardly new, and what she cared about most was how he treated me—but although I’d left her openings to confess her own romantic hopes, she’d stayed quiet.
Maybe she wasn’t willing to acknowledge the possibility until she knew it wouldn’t be snatched away.
“For what it’s worth,” Lara said, “I think you made the right choice.”
There was a lump in my throat. “Because of Selwyn?”
She was quiet as she slid another ruby pin into the coiled braids. The glittering drops made me think of a rainstorm at sunset—like the clouds had briefly parted so the sun could saturate everything in its dying red glow.
“Mostly because of him,” Lara finally said. “But also because you’re right. Drustan wants the throne for the wrong reasons, not just the right ones.”
“I’m sure that’s true of Hector, too.”
She grimaced. “I’m sure it is. But neither of them were ever going to be perfect.”
I hadn’t even told her about the changelings yet—it wasn’t my secret to share—and she still thought this was the right choice. “You aren’t worried that Hector is less popular than Drustan?”
“Most people are less popular than Drustan, and none of you are going to be well loved after you start commanding armies.” Her brown eyes were serious as they met mine in the mirror.
“It’s going to be war, Kenna, and you’re one of the ones starting it.
You can’t worry about popularity when you’re doing something like that. ”
Thousands of lives on the line…and I would be one of the leaders sending them off to die.
I stroked Caedo, who was curled around my wrist. The dagger had drunk a pitcher of pig’s blood tonight, but it stirred hungrily at the touch. I supposed once something started craving blood, it could never be entirely satisfied. “If we can kill Imogen quickly, it doesn’t need to be a long war.”
Lara shrugged one shoulder. “Depends on her successor. It won’t end until there are people in power who value peace more than glory—or until there’s no one left to fight.”
The house shivered, a tremor in the web of magic that made both of us stiffen. There was urgency in the invisible currents that eddied around us. Someone was here, and the house wanted us to hurry.
We raced downstairs in our robes. The entrance door slid open, revealing General Murdoch of Light House with Gweneira cradled limply in his arms. She wore a white ball gown only a few shades paler than her ashen face. Her eyes were closed, and her mouth sagged open.
Lara cried out and rushed forward. “What happened?”
“Poison,” Murdoch said grimly. “Rowena finally got to her. She collapsed after dinner.”
I’d been furious with Gweneira for spying, but sudden fear overtook everything. I placed my hand on her chest, trying to sense the extent of the damage. Her heart was struggling sluggishly, and her lungs were barely filling. “Antidote?”
“I don’t know. But I thought your magic—”
“Does anyone know you brought her here?”
“No. But when Rowena discovers there’s no corpse, she’ll send soldiers looking.”
“Inside,” I ordered, hastily modifying the house restrictions to allow these two access to the ground floor.
Murdoch hesitated, looking at the spikes lining the metal door.
“We can’t do it out here,” I said. “Not if soldiers will be coming.”
He nodded and stepped forward. As he came into the path of the spikes, he flinched. When nothing happened, he began striding forward quickly, Lara and I at his side.
Gweneira was fading rapidly. “Put her there,” I ordered, pointing at one of the couches in the inner hall.
Murdoch laid Gweneira down. She looked so still I would have believed she was dead if not for the faint echo of her heartbeat pressing against my magic. Her gown spilled over the crimson cushions, and I spotted the golden sparrow clinging to her white satin belt.
“This has to be the poison they tried before,” Lara said, twisting her fingers together. “The one that paralyzes the heart and lungs. She said—” She broke off, making a raw noise of anguish. “She said she’d die in thirty minutes.”
We had to be close to that, considering how long it had likely taken Murdoch to get here. I knelt and pressed my palm to Gweneira’s chest, closing my eyes and imagining my magic wrapping around her heart like a fist. The organ gave one faint beat—then stopped entirely.
I squeezed lightly with my magic. There was a moment of resistance, and then the muscle moved under my command and blood surged through her arteries. “Get an empty bowl,” I ordered Lara, feeling a swell of relief. “And Nadine or Triana, someone we can trust to be calm in a crisis.”
Lara’s footsteps pattered away. I kept my eyes closed, breathing through the rising panic as I kept pumping her heart.
I’d never done anything like this before.
If I squeezed too hard, she could die. If I got the rhythm wrong, she could die.
And she might die anyway because my magic was unpracticed and easily exhausted and I knew nothing about poisons.
“What’s happening at Light House?” I asked Murdoch to distract myself from the fear.
“Torin took over the house using the Sun Soldiers. I would be there fighting, but this was the only thing I could think of that might save her.”
“What will happen to her supporters?”
“They’re rounding them up,” he said, grief breaking through his controlled tone. “Most will fall in line, but there are a few who would rather die. I hope they run instead. Better a retreat than a total defeat.”
“Do they have somewhere to run to?”
“Some may come here.”
Which meant we needed to be ready to accept them.
I squeezed Gweneira’s heart again and again, then forced her lungs to expand.
It was a wobbling, unpracticed rhythm, but I sensed her blood freshening as air filled her.
My head was already starting to ache, though, and it took all my concentration to keep the magic flowing.
The power didn’t spill out of my fingers easily—it felt like moving underwater.
Because Gweneira was a Light faerie, I realized.
Her resistance to magic was affecting my ability to heal her—likely part of Mistei’s complex system of balance—which meant this would be harder and exhaust me faster than if I was working on anyone else.
Lara’s footsteps returned. “Here’s the bowl,” she said breathlessly. “Maude and Triana are coming.”
I opened my eyes. “I need you outside. There may be refugees from Light House.”
Lara made a noise of protest. “But I want—”
“It has to be you,” I told her firmly. “You’re the only one who can add them to the house. Murdoch, go with her so you can tell her who’s trustworthy. We don’t know who Torin and Rowena might send if they realize she’s here.”
Murdoch was already on his way out the door.
Lara hesitated, looking at Gweneira with desperate longing, then swore and hurried after him.
A moment later, Triana and Maude arrived, and I ordered them to roll Gweneira onto her side so she could vomit.
Maude held Gweneira in place while Triana knelt before her with the empty bowl.
I didn’t know how much poison she’d swallowed or if I’d be able to get enough of it out.
I barely knew what I was doing at all—reading anatomy textbooks wasn’t a substitute for holding someone’s actual organs in my grip.
My control of Gweneira’s heart and lungs faltered as I explored her stomach.
It felt similarly paralyzed, but waves of pain burned her from the inside out.
I took a deep breath, then willed her to vomit in a rippling surge.
The mess poured out of her, splashing into the bowl. Triana flinched but didn’t move. I did it again and again until Gweneira’s stomach was empty. Then we rolled her onto her back again so I could keep working her stone-stiff heart and lungs.
Sweat beaded my brow, and I wrestled down fresh panic as my magic dwindled. If I couldn’t get her body working again soon…