Chapter Twenty-Nine
As quickly as it began, the rain ceases and the clouds part, revealing calm, sunny skies. It’s as if the air around us lets
out a sigh of relief, leaving nothing but the green smell of fresh trees and a gentle breeze off the sea.
The vines stop moving, the trees go still, the brook slows from a roar to a gentle babble.
I slide my sword out of Bram’s body and fall to my knees, sobbing.
He picked the wrong girl to kill. If it had been me, nothing would have happened. The land wouldn’t have cared and he and
Lydia could have both gone on living, but instead, they’ve left me here, alone, to deal with it all myself.
The bloodstained sword slips from my limp hand and falls to the ground with a clatter. I give one final look to the tree,
where Bram is slumped. His eyes are closed, and his face is peaceful enough that he could be sleeping, if not for the tree
branches holding his hands aloft, pinned above his head.
I don’t regret what I have done but I know I will also mourn Bram, the person I believed him to be and the person he could have been, for the rest of my days.
I will also mourn the girl I was before our paths collided.
He killed the version of Ivy who believed in magic and goodness just as surely as I killed him.
I then turn and trudge through the vines back to Lydia’s body and sink to my knees.
Duddon is there, standing guard, stroking her damp curls, and I hold her, not knowing what else to do.
Eventually I will have to rise and face the consequences of my actions, but then Lydia will have to be buried and that will
really mean she’s gone and I can’t bear it yet. So, I steal these final moments with my sister.
Heavy footsteps crunch through the vines toward us. I look up, prepared to see Queen Mor in a rage, ready to kill me for what
I did to her son, but instead I see Emmett, free of his binds, pushing through the dense greenery alongside Faith and Marion.
Emmett’s face crumples in relief upon seeing me, but when his eyes land on Lydia’s body he releases a bloodcurdling howl of
pain and falls to his knees beside me.
I feel so stupid for all the time I spent being jealous of the relationship he had with Lydia; now, I’m just grateful to hold
her with someone who loved her, too.
“Oh, Lydia,” he weeps. “Lydia, no.”
Rhion follows closely behind him, and collapses, weeping into her hair. “I’m sorry,” he cries in a voice that’s just for my
sister. “I failed you.”
His bloodshot eyes meet mine. “I never even told her that I loved her.”
“She knew.”
Faith and Marion make their way through the crowd soon after and silently sink to the ground next to me, laying their hands on my shoulders. Tears stream down both of their faces.
“Emmett?” a voice calls, but Emmett can’t manage to answer. Seconds later, Nan bursts through the trees, Fennick at her heels.
Eloree appears next, tears in her eyes. Then others I recognize vaguely from the castle, staff and courtiers.
One by one, they fall to their knees, until the entire arena is filled with faeries and other small folk like Duddon. Even
the Redcaps are there, on their knees, mourning for their queen.
Bram may never have respected Lydia’s authority as queen, but it doesn’t matter—the residents of the Otherworld did.
The ground shakes once more, like it’s weeping alongside us.
The vines upon which Lydia lies ripple and writhe like green serpents. I shout in surprise, but Duddon stills my hand. “Just
watch,” they instruct in their tiny voice, and I force myself to do just that. If Lydia is connected to the Otherworld in
this way, then it seems only right I let it take her, no matter how it pains me to see her go.
The thick green vines snake over her feet, her legs, wrapping around her hands and arms until they reach her torso and cover
her bloodstained dress and the place where the killing blow landed. The vines then wind up her neck, her face, her hair, until
every inch of her is covered.
I turn away. I don’t want to look as she’s pulled under the dirt, but Duddon places their slimy hand on mine again. “Watch.”
Someone in the crowd cries out, “Long live Queen Lydia,” and it echoes from all around. “Long live Queen Lydia!”
It’s then that the vines begin to glow. First, a dull, sunset pink, then vibrant orange, then sunny yellow, until Lydia’s body is covered in white light so blinding I have to squint to keep looking at her.
The earth shudders again, a mighty quake that causes the leaves around us to shake and the crowd to cry out in surprise.
Then it stops, as if exhaling in relief, and the vines around Lydia’s body retreat.
They ripple back, a perfect reverse of the way they moved before, until they reveal my sister, looking perfect and whole once
more. Her curls fall around her like a golden halo, dotted with small white blooms, and her skin is flawless and glowing.
She’s even got a dusting of rosebud pink along her lips and the tops of her cheekbones.
I brush my hand against the cool skin of her forehead.
Her eyes snap open and she gasps awake.