Chapter Thirty
“Lydia!” I shriek, and pull her into a tight hug.
She coughs sharply, like she’s just been saved from drowning, then takes a heaving breath.
“Ivy?” She blinks against the light.
“You’re alive.” I weep into her shoulder and grip her tight.
She looks down at her bloodstained gown and clutches at the place in her chest where the knife landed. “I died.” She says
the words softly, marveling at them. “I was dead.”
“What happened?” Emmett asks gently.
Lydia blinks as if the memory is already slipping from her. “I saw Bram. I walked past him on a road lined with flowers, and
then I was back here. Something—” She pauses and searches for the words. “Something gave me the choice, to go or stay, and
then a tether of golden light pulled me back into my body.”
“The land, Your Majesty,” Duddon pipes up from behind Lydia’s head. “It didn’t like that you were gone. It brought you back.”
There’s so much about this place that I’ll never understand, but with my sister here beside me, miraculously whole and beautiful
and perfect, all I can feel is gratitude.
“Long live Queen Lydia!” Duddon’s tiny voice shouts again, and the chant catches like wildfire until the whole arena is chanting for her.
Rhion offers his hand, but Lydia pushes herself gingerly to her knees, then her feet, and raises her hand to wave at the crowd.
They all drop to their knees before her, even me and Emmett. A mighty wind blows in off the sea, sending the tender green
leaves from the trees raining over Lydia, and I might not be connected to the Otherworld in the same way Lydia is, but it’s
obvious, even to me—it’s happy.
The cheering continues, but I turn to Emmett with a sick turning in my stomach. “Mor?” I ask. I’m expecting her to barrel
into the crowd at any moment to finish what her son started.
Emmett pulls me to my feet. “Come with me,” he says gravely. “I’ll show you.”
We push through the crowd until we reach the edge of the arena.
Bram’s marble observation box has cracked down the middle, and is half hanging off the stands, dangling into the coliseum.
Inside the box is Bram’s tipped-over throne, the remnants of Emmett’s shackles, and something else I can’t quite see.
I hike up my skirts, kick off my sodden shoes, and begin to climb. It’s not far, only as high as a few rungs of a ladder,
but I feel the heat of Emmett’s hand hovering behind me protectively.
I hoist myself up and Emmett follows. It’s immediately clear what he was referring to.
On the floor of the observation box is a tangle of bloodred lux flowers. They’ve grown in a near perfect circle, about three
feet wide, exactly where Queen Mor was sitting next to her son.
“What is this?” I turn to Emmett.
“I’m not sure. In the chaos, none of us saw. When Bram—” Emmett can’t choke out the words killed Lydia. “The trees started growing, everything happened so fast. Faith snatched one of the guard’s swords and demanded he undo my
chains or be run through. Once I was free, I began looking for Mor, terrified that she’d be looking for you, but all we found
was this.” He gestures again to those strange flowers, swaying gently in the breeze.
From our higher vantage point, I can look out past the coliseum. We’re on a flat plain between the edge of the forest and
the sea, near enough to the Isern Caves that I can see their silhouette in the misty distance. “She could have bolted,” I
say.
Emmett shrugs. “She could have, but would she have not stayed to defend Bram?”
It’s true, but maybe she saw the writing on the wall. I’ve always been rather invested in my own self-preservation may have been the truest thing she ever told me.
I stand on my tiptoes and strain to look over the edge of the coliseum. The fall would kill a human, but what do I know of
immortals? But I make the decision in that moment not to let it consume me. I prod at the tangle of flowers with my toe. “Good
riddance,” I say. If it is her, I hope she’s found the only peace she ever really wanted—a place where she can be with Bram.
Emmett helps me down from the ruins of the stands and we make our way across the arena to Lydia.
She’s standing now, supported by Rhion.
Her skin is so luminous it’s as if it’s emitting light, but her face is still a bit queasy.
“Mor?” she asks.
“Gone,” I answer without elaborating.
Lydia steps from the shadow of the trees into the light and her skin glimmers slightly. She clutches the place in her chest where the knife drove through and winces. “I don’t feel like myself,” she says.
“Shh,” I soothe her. Rhion and Emmett exchange a tense glance over Lydia’s head. “You’ve been through so much, you only need
to rest.”
There are carriages waiting outside the gates of the crumbling coliseum, and the remaining King’s Guard drop to their knees
the moment Lydia steps out into the clearing.
“Long live Queen Lydia!” they shout, then pull out their swords and lay them at her feet, her slippers still damp with her
own blood. “We pledge our swords to you, Your Majesty.”
Lydia dips her chin regally and they part for her like the tides.
In the jostle of the crowd, we end up in separate carriages on our way back to the castle, so I have no way of speaking to
her.
Emmett peers at me, worried, as the carriage starts to move. Across the bench, Faith and Marion look equally concerned.
It’s only once I’m alone with them that I allow myself to shatter.