Chapter 30
very thought in my head falls silent.
I stand up, but I’m not sure I’m in control of my body anymore.
“I know how difficult all this is to process,” Mother says quickly, “but you don’t have to rush into anything.
There’s a Mage here in Ruin—a teacher, who is prepared to help you master your power.
You can take time to train. You don’t have to join the rebellion right away; this can happen on your timetable. ”
I can’t get a breath in. I’m so confused and distraught, I can’t even look at her anymore.
Kidnapper. Liar. Manipulator. Fraud.
I’m tempted to throw something at her head.
I don’t know this woman. I don’t understand her. I don’t know what I’ve been fighting for.
I need to get out.
I stumble to the door and start yanking open the locks.
“Stop, Lyria!” Mother shoots to her feet. “You can’t leave here! It’s not safe!”
I ignore her, fling open the door, and run.
I don’t know my way through the streets.
I can just focus in one direction: Toward the lake.
Toward the water. Soon I hear Cygnus’s footsteps behind me.
My Talent marks his desperation, his fear, but none of that trumps this raw betrayal roaring through me, the maelstrom threatening to swallow me whole.
I don’t look back as I hurtle to the city’s edge and the black-pebbled bank of the lake.
I dive in and let the water rush over me.
And then I can finally scream.
I let my Talent burn and burn. I let myself feel all that I have warred to suppress: the rage and the terror, the confusion and bottomless, infinite pain.
I let it rise and flood through me, until I become the agony.
Then I send the energy blast out of me and through the pressing blackness.
The water absorbs it all. My screams, my pain, my Talent, I yield it all to the lake.
When I’m aching for air, I kick back to the surface.
Then I submerge again, and again. Over and over, until the worst of the fury has seeped out of me, and there’s just that raw, swirling vortex within. The mother-size hole in my heart.
Slowly, shakily, I drift back to myself. It’s a long time before I let myself float to the surface, where I roll onto my back and gaze up at the darkness. Cygnus waits on the shore. I’m hazily aware of his distant figure, sitting with his knees tucked to his chest.
I don’t know why he followed. Surely my usefulness has expired.
When I finally wade back to the shore, he asks roughly, “Are you all right?”
“No,” I say simply. The truth. “I have no idea what’s real anymore. I don’t even know who she is. Everything I knew—” My throat closes, and I cut myself off.
There’s no noise for a moment, except our heartbeats and the lapping waves.
Cygnus breathes steadily. “Lyria, your mother had good reasons for concealing your identity. She didn’t do it to hurt you.”
“She shouldn’t have concealed it from me!”
I feel like a fool.
Swallowing hard, I gaze back at Cygnus, recalling his expression when my mother announced me as the Heir of Evermore. He seemed unfazed by the news. Stoic as ever. Cold rushes over me, and my skin prickles.
“You knew,” I whisper.
“What?” Cygnus maintains the mask; his expression doesn’t flicker. But he pales, just the tiniest degree.
“You knew about the prophecy,” I say more firmly. “And somehow, you’ve known all along it was me, haven’t you?”
There’s a shift in his scent—everything I need to confirm my belief. The vortex churns ever deeper, ever faster, and I shut my eyes.
He’s already hurrying to explain.“I didn’t know. I just had a theory.”
“From where? How?”
“Ragglestaff told me about the prophecy. He said it describes someone with a Gods-given Talent. Based on what I learned about you while we worked through the gates, and what I’ve heard about Queen Soleste…”
Betrayal rolls through me. “You agreed we were going to be honest with each other!”
“It was just a theory! What would telling you have accomplished?”
“You wouldn’t have lied !”
I need to get away from him. More pressingly, I need to get away from her. She is not my mother, and this is not my home. Everything in this Gods-forsaken place has been tricks and riddles. There’s nothing straightforward here, nothing real.
There is only one person I want to talk to right now.
I start charging back the way we came.
“Where are you going to go?” Cygnus shoots up from where he was sitting and follows me.
“Back to the palace,” I say. “I need to talk to Finn.”
Cygnus recoils. “And ask him what? If it’s true? How would he possibly know?”
“I don’t know.” My chest lurches—a tug of that invisible cord between us. “I just need to speak with him.”
I shove away the rising thoughts of what I saw in the archway. It wasn’t real. It can’t be. I was tricked by the banshees before; I must have been tricked again.
Either way, I need to find out.
“Wait! Listen to me, Lyria!” Cygnus surges into the water after me, seizing my arm. “I won’t tell you not to go. That’s your choice to make. But please, be careful. Don’t put your faith in anyone you shouldn’t.”
I shake him off. “I already did.”
It is a surprisingly short swim back to Nocturn’s gate, and I retrace the long path to the entrance. The sun is close to the horizon when I make it back out of the Everwillow.
Quick calculations tell me that my three days are up; Finn should be back at the castle, here to fundraise at the military ball.
My plan is to grab him beforehand, but as I near the castle, it’s clear the festivities have already started.
All traces of the attack have vanished and the halls have been elaborately decorated.
The forecourt teems with carriages, and I can already hear music drifting from the Great Hall. I curse my timing.
New plan: Change. Go to the ball. Find Finn there.
I hasten to my room. Dante chirps excitedly at my arrival, zooming in circles and vaulting over the furniture. I enlisted Daisy to watch him in my absence, and I’m relieved to see that he seems to be in much better shape than I am. Gods, it’s good to see him.
I beeline straight for the washroom and tub. It’s not until I emerge, drying my hair, that I notice the ball gown laid out on my bed, a note on top of it.
For my future bride.
With my whole heart forever,
Finn
My heart lurches.
This is the real Finn. The thoughtful boy who loves me.
Not that warped nightmare from the cave.
All this time, I’ve been holding myself back from him, and for what?
Duty? To whom? I feel like I’m sleepwalking as I slip into the dress and fasten the bodice.
It’s a bright, patriotic shade of Verdinae blue.
When I arrive in the ballroom, I find it similarly bedecked.
There are blue banners hanging from the ceiling and victory laurels strung over chairs.
The guests parade about in their finery.
I recognize Odessa in an ivory gown, whispering something in a nearby courtier’s ear.
I spot Sandria in a spectacular charcoal gown with billowing sleeves in the midst of a throng of admirers.
She catches my eye as I make my way toward the front of the ballroom, and I swear there’s almost something disapproving in the purse of her lips.
The Thornes sit at the high table. Scanning, I take in Queen Davina, as glamorous as usual in a velvet-trimmed gown with the Nocturn ruby at her throat; Sebastian, with Roman beside him, laughing as the Sulish prince whispers some clandestine commentary; Damien, looking bored; Finn, clean-shaven and wearing a navy tunic I’ve never seen before; and in the midst of them…
King Rodrick the Ruthless. The nightmare in the flesh.
He looks exactly as he did in the vision I was shown in the archway: like an older version of his second son.
But there’s nothing of what I love about Finn in his father’s face; the smile lines, his tan skin, the sweet slope of his nose are all absent.
Rodrick has the same sharp features, but with none of the sunshine.
As if I’ve drawn him to me with my thoughts, Finn stands, catching sight of me. And Gods-damn him, he is beaming. My emotions are distorted by the confusion of all I saw.
What was real? What were lies?
As always, my magic makes itself known, with swelling pressure and pain. The monster paces its cage, growing ravenous; it can smell blood in the water.
As my prince steps away from the high table and approaches, I force deep breaths and command the monster to be tame, for the moment.
I could be wrong. I must be wrong.
“You look incredible,” Finn says.
“I need to talk to you,” I murmur, drawing my lips toward his ear. “Privately.”
Finn reaches for my hand. “Me too! I have so much to fill you in on. But first, there’s someone you need to meet.”
He starts leading me toward the high table, and I balk.
“Wait, Finn. I—”
But he just beams back at me, bending to kiss my hair. “Don’t be nervous. Everything is working out perfectly for us. You’ll see.” The spot where his lips touched me burns.
We’re hurrying toward the high table before I can register what is happening.
Stay calm, Lyria. Magic has turned my blood molten as my worst fears swirl through me. But much of it subsides as I gaze up at Finn. He looks the same way he did on our last night together when he held out Rashielle’s ring to me: adoring, full of hope, ready to take on the world together.
King Rodrick stands as we approach. “Here she is!” he says, spreading his arms and moving toward me. “The lady of the hour!” I stiffen, prepared for an attack. But King Rodrick enfolds me in a hug. When the king’s head is bent near mine, he whispers, “Well done, Lyria.”
He pulls away, and I look to Finn for answers. The prince just beams.
Queen Davina taps a slender knife against her goblet. The ding-ding-ding draws the room to rapt attention, and the orchestra stops. “Distinguished guests, if we can please have your attention—”
“What’s going on?” I ask Finn, apprehension rising.