Chapter 30 #2
He leans in to whisper, “I think you might have ended the war.” Finn squeezes my hand again, but his smile wanes as his fingers probe mine. “Lyria, where’s your ring?”
King Rodrick addresses the court. “As you’re all aware, my beautiful wife and I have spent many years scouring the Midlands for a suitable bride for our second son, Finneas. It brings me indescribable pleasure to finally announce that we have found that match.”
As the king gestures to me, applause roars through the crowd. Usually, this much attention would make me ill, but I’m overcome with relief that this whole mess is just to announce our engagement, which I never even agreed to. Embarrassing, yes, but at least nobody’s losing a head.
King Rodrick continues. “We intended to forge an alliance that would strengthen the realm, a match that would serve the broader goals of our good kingdom as we look toward a united future. I hoped that my son would find someone who could help us build a better world, a holier one, where all men may live in peace and not fear the ravaging influence of magic. And who better to serve the interests of Verdinae than one of our own?”
The king smirks at me, and there’s something of Damien behind his eyes. Something dangerous. My blood thickens and heats; the monster snarls.
“As many of you know, Lyria joined the ranks of our hospital staff in the spring. As the royal apothecary, she has made herself utterly indispensable in the fight against our enemies at home and abroad. She has gone above and beyond the call of duty in protecting these lands. Miss Dareborn, if you please…”
I follow the king’s gaze, and I’m surprised to see Daisy entering the room. She’s wearing a lovely pink ball gown and her hair is swept into a glamorous updo. In her arms, she’s carrying a tray covered with a bright blue velvet cloth.
“Today marks a historic occasion for Verdinae,” the king proclaims. “A day of progress. Because after months of tireless labor, Lyria has successfully created a cure for the vilest of all plagues on our good kingdom: magic itself.”
On cue, Daisy sweeps off the velvet draping, revealing dozens of gleaming bottles of pale golden liquid. The omnidraught.
The recipe I worked on for months.
The one I taught her to make. She must be holding three or four batches of it.
What’s happening?
King Rodrick continues, “My forefather’s vision was to unite the Midlands under one banner.
The Vanquisher sought a world of true equality, where none would suffer from the corruptive influence of magic.
Today, I can say with assurance that no one citizen has done more to further that cause than Lyria.
History will remember this as the day the war was won.
And it’s all thanks to our beloved daughter of Verdinae and my son’s future bride. ”
My chest craters.
“With one sip of her creation—the omnidraught—those born with the affliction of a so-called Talent will no longer have to suffer. Through the dissemination of this draught, we can at last achieve justice and equality throughout the realm.”
I’m praying to Rashielle to make time stop. I’m praying to wake up from this nightmare.
Everything I saw in the archway is true.
There is no plague.
There is no cure.
There is only this—King Rodrick’s long-standing plan to obliterate magic forever. And I’ve played straight into his hands. This was always Finn’s goal: to manipulate and betray me.
All my worst fears are true.
Applause smashes through the ballroom, and I finally tear my eyes away from Rodrick, forcing myself to look at Finn instead. That smile hasn’t wavered. He’s gazing steadily at his father, basking in his approval.
LOOK AT ME, I want to howl at him. DO SOMETHING.
But he does nothing, says nothing, as his father triumphantly concludes, “The era of magic in the Midlands is over. It’s time for a new age to begin. With this tool in our arsenal, I have no doubt: We will win this war.”
Applause fills the ballroom. When Finn squeezes my hand, I want to lurch away from him, but I am frozen by all my emotions.
King Rodrick leans in to kiss my forehead, and the cheering rises to a fever pitch. I’m falling, catapulting, plunging downward forever.
What a fool they’ve made of me. What a sniveling, wretched mess. Every foul way that Finn described me strikes me in succession, like so many slaps to the face.
Insecure. Hasn’t got a clue. Grotesquely starved for affection.
King Rodrick’s lips feel like acid against my skin.
When he draws back, I gaze up into his eyes: this man who is more monster than human, the embodiment of everything I despise.
A bully. A bigot. A dictator peddling lies.
Then my eyes drift to his crown. The gold gleams beneath the chandeliers, bringing the faint metalwork into relief.
The sides are etched with swirling runes.
Not with ships, or dragons, or roses—the design isn’t Verdish, or even Dornik.
It’s Evermorean. Ivy and willow branches.
I could kill him.
The impulse sweeps through me, borne by fury. First, it’s hypothetical. Then, very quickly, it becomes real. Maybe I should kill him. Right here, right now.
I remember—Oh Gods. My name day. Queen Soleste. My mother. Nausea curdles in my gut, my knees almost buckling. I’m exactly like her, aren’t I?
NO. I refuse the thought with the same force I use to shove my Talent back into submission.
My whole body starts shaking, and I don’t know whether it’s from disgust or fury or fear.
Certainly it’s fear that has glued my feet to the floor.
As applause continues around me, panic clamps an iron fist on my throat.
But fear has frozen this kingdom since King Verdin, and here I am, playing my part. I am enraged at my participation in this stupid game. The dragons have been dead for hundreds of years. Why are the ashes still smoldering?
When I look over the crowd, I see cowards. Sycophants. People who draw close to the Crown to share in the spoils but don’t question the laws that keep this land bound. I hate that I’m bowing to this. I hate that I’m part of this.
Something in me snaps.
I snatch Elowyn’s crown off Rodrick’s head.
It takes most of the room a few seconds to understand what is happening.
I don’t understand it myself. Something possesses me.
The monster? Myself? I’m not waiting to find out.
With the crown in one hand and my skirts in the other, I run, catapulting off the dais and through the crowd before any of the royal family can react.
Shouts rise behind me. I think I hear Odessa’s shrill screams. I’m halfway to the door when King Rodrick bellows, “Seize her!”
Something grasps my skirts, and I feel the sudden yank and hear the rip of a huge chunk of fabric. I wheel around and lock eyes with Damien. He’s snatched a bit of my dress, and his other hand is already reaching to grab me.
I react on primal instinct. My hand splays and power surges.
Damien howls as every bone in his outstretched hand shatters.
Screams erupt as the surrounding courtiers process what has transpired. I catch sight of Finn over his brother’s shoulder, his face awash with undiluted horror. At any other moment, that look might be enough to break my heart.
Right now? There’s nothing left to shatter.
I surge toward the doors.
A few guards try to block my path, but I clear the doors and dash to the hallway before they can catch me. My magic is hot and thick against my skin, buoyed by the zinging pleasure of release. As I run, I’m plunging into the depths of my power, drawing up cords of it as fast as I can.
I need to make it to the tree. I need to get back to Ruin.
I have no plan after that. I hear soldiers behind me and try to ignore the clattering sound.
My muscles ache, and my lungs scream at me as I push myself faster, willing myself to fly across the palace’s marble floors toward the beckoning East Wing.
No one in the hospital knows what’s happening as I blitz past. All they see is a girl in a ball gown, running like her Gods-damn life depends on it toward the east terrace.
I know every twist and turn of the staging floor by heart, and I manage to shake off my pursuers as I cut down the hallway toward the storeroom, before diving through the exterior door of Cygnus’s office.
Then I hit the gardens, grass beneath my feet, and pick up speed with the sky over me.
I know I’ve almost made it when the gates of the swan garden come into view. But my stomach drops into my shoes as I rush within and find an entire squad of soldiers waiting. Roburn stands among them.
They know about Ruin.
But how?
Stopping, I find another wall of people running at me from the opposite direction; this one is fronted by Finn, with Queen Davina beside him, her skirts billowing and coiffure askew.
I’m surrounded.
“Stay back!” I shriek.
Finn cues the party to halt. “Wait! Just wait! Let me speak to her!” I can see his mind racing, trying to figure out how to spin this, how to smooth it all over.
The running stops, but the guards still creep in closer. As the closest one edges almost to a sword’s length away, I scream again, “Get away from me! I’m warning you!”
“Lyria, please,” Finn says, looking wide-eyed, devastated. “It’s not what you think.”
“Lyria, there’s no need to panic.” Queen Davina speaks up. “This is all just a big misunderstanding. Why don’t we go back to the castle and talk?”
I ignore her. My gaze is locked onto Finn. “Just let me leave,” I beg him. “Let me go, and I won’t hurt anyone else. I don’t want to hurt anyone. Just let me walk away.”
Finn tries taking a step. “Can we just—”
He doesn’t get to finish. A guard charges me.
My Talent flares before I can process a single conscious thought.
With no time for precision, I lash out instinctively.
My intention might have been to cut off his air supply, but the magic is a riptide in this maelstrom of terror, and I have no control, no spatial awareness, no way to stop it. The soldier’s neck snaps.
He tumbles like a rag doll. Dead.
“STOP!” I shriek as others press ever closer. Tears rise, and I’m begging, “Don’t make me do this, please!”
The guards hesitate. Nobody wants to be next.
Abruptly, the queen lunges—but not toward me. Silver flashes in the golden light, and for a moment, I can’t understand what I’m seeing. Queen Davina has a knife in her hand, but it’s not my throat she’s poised to slit.
It’s Finn’s.
When the prince’s eyes meet mine, they’re a mirror of my shock.
Queen Davina snarls, “Surrender or he dies.”
No one moves. No one dares to.
“Hand over the crown,” she demands. “Surrender now, or I swear to the Almighty God, I will do it, Lyria.”
I can’t fathom what I’m seeing. She can’t be serious…can she? The queen looks serious. Or perhaps closer to crazed, as she grips her son’s arm with one hand like a hawk’s talons holding its prey and uses the other hand to threaten him with the blade.
“He’s your son!” I plead.
“I have other sons.”
“Mother,” Finn entreats,“please, you don’t have to do this. Just let her go—”
Queen Davina snarls,“You know what she is.”
As I stare into the queen’s eyes, I find in them absolute resolution. Behind it swirls hatred. Zero hesitation. Zero shame. I can’t understand why, but she is prepared to kill Finn rather than let me go. She would actually allow him to die.
I should allow him to die.
But I can’t.
The invisible bond between us buckles but does not break. And in the same moment that I watch Finn accept his impending death, I realize it would shatter my soul.
I drop the crown.
Then I hold out my wrists in surrender.
“No!” Finn shouts as Queen Davina releases him. “Mother, let her go. We had an agreement! You promised!”
The guards surround me. I expect to be tied up, but as the largest man grabs my hands, another one wheels back and punches me square in the face. The force would send me crashing backward if not for the guard who grabs me from behind. The next blow hits my stomach, and I whimper, folding.
“STOP! DON’T HURT HER!” Finn is screaming at the top of his lungs, but the words are ignored.
I catch a sidelong glimpse of the prince as someone yanks me up and the guards start dragging me back toward the castle.
Finn fights desperately to reach me against the four or five guards trying to restrain him. “DON’T YOU DARE TOUCH HER! LYRIA!”
His screams fade as they lead me away.