Chapter 12 #2
The stirring is futile. Eventually, I shove away from the workbench, roaring. I’ve got half a mind to fling my cauldron across the room. I’ll have to throw the whole mixture out and start over.
Disaster.
I’m nauseated at the prospect of relaying my failure to Davina. Starting over will set me back weeks. How many lives will my mistake cost? Dozens? Hundreds?
A Healer is precise, I can hear Mother saying. We can’t afford mistakes.
Suddenly, my whole plan to impress her feels astoundingly foolish.
Why did I think I could do this? Who was I to believe I could accomplish what she couldn’t?
The simple fact that I haven’t heard from her tells me Mother hasn’t conquered the plague yet, either.
She has three hundred years of experience over me—finest potioneer of her generation, Royal Healer to the Aldain dynasty. If she can’t do it, nobody can.
I’m in the midst of this mental spiral when I hear footsteps approaching the storehouse. I manage to wipe my tears away just as Cygnus steps through the doorway. When I whirl to face him, there’s an awkward beat. I’m sure he can tell I was crying.
“Would you take a walk with me?” he asks stiffly. He’s got a satchel slung over one shoulder, and the shadows under his eyes have all but vanished.
I blink back at him. “A walk?”
“Just into the gardens. To clear our heads.”
My stomach sinks. Here it is. The lecture I’ve been waiting for.
“Sure,” I agree reluctantly.
I follow Cygnus out across the terraces and past the reflective pool where the castle glitters in reverse. It’s after dusk now, and the chatter of frogs fills the cooling air. I don’t recognize our path until we round a familiar corner, and the lake comes into view.
“I’ve been here with Finn,” I blurt out.
Cygnus rolls his shoulders back, smirking. “I showed him this spot when we were kids,” he says. “Typical of him to pass it off as his discovery.”
“He didn’t say he discovered it.”
“No. This lake is thousands of years old.” Cygnus approaches the shore and crouches, slipping his fingers under the surface.
“And are you an expert on lakes?”
“I’m an expert on this castle.” With his back to me, he traces lazy circles in the water. “Do you know who built it?”
I pause. “Verdin, I assume?”
“Wrong. That’s a common belief, though, since it’s the story the Thornes tell—all about how Verdin raised his glorious castle after arriving in the Hartlands.” An odd, caustic edge has taken over his voice. “A shining beacon to the prosperity of the empire.”
I’ve gone very still. “Interesting fun fact.”
I don’t know what the hell is happening, but something is definitely wrong.
I don’t recognize this person. I almost wish Cygnus would insult me or something just to make this all feel less weird.
He slowly stands and turns toward me, and when our eyes meet, I mark an intensity in his I don’t recognize.
“Anna told me you were asking after me,” he says quietly.
“Is that why you’re acting so weird? Because you thought I was snooping?” I fold my arms. “I only cared because she said there’d be an open position.”
Cygnus chuckles, which unnerves me even more. “You’re good at that. The quick jabs, the evasion. When I met you, I thought you were a terrible liar, but you’ve really improved. I gotta give you credit—you’re a quick study.”
My neck prickles. “What are you talking about?”
“I misjudged you, Lyria. I really did. I thought you came to the castle for selfish reasons, but you are a thoroughly decent person.”
That sounds suspiciously like a compliment. My eyes narrow. “What made you change your mind?”
“What tipped the scales for me?” Cygnus’s head bobs reflectively. “That was probably when you fixed my face.”
I edge back a step. “What are you talking about?”
Play dumb, Lyria.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he continues. “You had every reason to hate me. You didn’t have to save Finn from the Moragorion, either, but you did.”
He knows. A hundred curses pinwheel through my head.
He knows.
“Finn killed the Moragorion,” I correct futilely, skin burning. I edge back another step.
“Sure. Maybe.” Cygnus huffs. “But I examined his scars myself. You’re telling me those wounds healed naturally?”
Run. The instinct bolts through me. But where is there to run to? If Cygnus is about to bare my secret, there is nowhere I can go in the castle for safety.
Nausea floods me, but not from fear. No, this queasiness rises from disgust toward myself, how quickly I identify what needs to be done and how readily my magic swells as need crystallizes into decision.
This is the crisis I’ve prepared my whole life to meet, the cold, inevitable cost of my birthright. I’ve always known a moment would come when I’d have to do the worst to keep my secret. I regret that it’s him.
I can’t run. Therefore, I can’t let him live.
Cygnus steps toward me—an asinine move, considering he’s about three seconds away from death.
It’s like a third party has taken over my thoughts, guiding me through each grisly calculation.
The Moragorion’s fate is too horrible. I don’t wish him pain.
For all his assholery, Cygnus still dedicated his life to healing people.
He’s got my begrudging respect for that.
So I thoughtfully consider my method of ending his life. The jugular? The spine? His brain?
Another step.
“Lyria, I’m not going to hurt you….”
The problem is the corpse. If I shatter something inside him, that leaves a body with no understandable wound.
I might as well poke a hornets’ nest and pour honey on my head.
Countless people saw us walk out of the East Wing together.
Even if I kill him in a normal way, how much time would I buy myself before they string me up for murder? Enough to escape?
He’s almost close enough to touch. My fingers close around my father’s dagger.
“I just want to talk,” he says. I don’t need my Talent to know that’s a lie.
We lunge at the same time.
I grab my dagger off my belt. Cygnus catches my wrists, stopping me just before the blade would have plunged into his neck. We wrestle for a strangled moment. He yells something I can’t hear. I’m struggling too hard to get my hands on him, fighting for my life.
But he’s stronger. Impossibly strong. I’m jolted by surprise and accompanying horror.
No human should be able to fight back like this—and the struggling ends when Cygnus rips the dagger from my hand and shoves me into the tree, which parts around me.
A hollow opens up inside, bigger than should be possible, and my eyes widen as the world vanishes.