Chapter Nine
T here are moments.
Moments when the weight of one’s damaged self becomes so overwhelming, so daunting, all one can do is idly float through it, as if untethered from their own body, moving through the haze of sorrow and regret, mindlessly—numbly.
The proceeding hours following what happened in the throne room were composed of such moments.
It hadn’t been my ears listening to Gray scream as healers mended him.
Those hadn’t been my hands cradling his head in my lap.
Hadn’t been my fingers uncorking a vial of sleeping tonic I’d originally prepared for other uses, forcing it down Gray’s scratchy throat, plunging him into a hazy unconsciousness so he wouldn’t have to feel the pain.
Those hadn’t been my strangled cries as Sterling—gently as he possibly could—rubbed sea salt into the lacerations on my back, because I’d asked him to be the one to do it.
Those now permanent trails of war wounds along my back and lower thighs hadn’t been earned, merely given, and it surely hadn’t been my body that experienced the pain from them. Just like it hadn’t been my body being mended once the salt crystallized the skin into beautiful flakes of marred ash.
No. It had been a variation of me—some version that is conjured to be a stand-in when the weight of painful realities press too heavily against my heart and mind, plunging me beneath the waves of awareness, sinking me into a sullen state of oblivion.
And once I’m tethered back to my body, it’s like waking up from a strange, vivid dream.
The hearth is roaring, the sounds of crackling flames and pops of wood a welcome background noise to the blaring silence in my head.
Sterling approaches on light feet, resting a gentle hand on my shoulder as he passes, making for the chair across from me. I lightly touch my fingers to his hand before they drop back into my lap, as if they are too heavy to hold upright.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, his voice soft as feathers. “Is your back troubling you?”
I snort a hollow laugh. “I’m alright.”
My eyes drift across the room to Gray, who sleeps soundly on a cot the healers brought out for him. The walls of my heart constrict when I glimpse his smoothed-over face. The outlines of pain have finally melted away.
When I return my attention forward, Sterling is watching me with a gentle expression. One I know sees through me—gleans down to my very core. So it is for that reason I openly speak.
“What Gray did for me…the fact that he stepped in…” My mouth flounders, unable to find words, and the pain in my heart somehow signals my eyes to well with tears.
Sterling leans forward and places his hand over mine. “He did exactly as Azalea and I have raised him to do.”
I swallow back the rising lump in my throat. “Sterling…what the hell just happened?” My question squeaks out of me. “What have I done?”
Understanding the real underlying question, he squeezes my hand a final time before leaning back into the oversized chair.
“You have done what a person who is willing to fight for their freedom would do. And you should not feel guilt, nor shame, nor any other emotion outside of pride for it.” He does not waver.
“Tonight, you stood up to a king. Something men raised in court all their lives only dream of doing. ”
I shoot him a dry look. “I think you’re confusing courage with unfounded confidence.
I’ve never even left the Rivara Kingdom before.
And now?” I scoff, disbelieving. “Now I can wield magic after twenty-one years, and the world beyond these borders suddenly feels real. Like a fairytale brought to life. And I have no idea what to do with it.”
I can wield magic.
I can wield magic.
What a strange, foreign sentence that would have been only a day ago. It would have also been a falsehood—a lie.
Now it is an unequivocal truth.
How odd, the way a lie can turn into a truth so quickly.
Sterling tilts his head. “All the same, you saw the situation for what it was, and you took advantage. You did well, Lyra. You thought quickly and rationally.” His eyes soften as a small curve pulls at his stubbly lips. “I am quite proud of you.”
My eyes snap to his—emotion I am incapable of expressing swelling in my chest—and I observe Sterling as if for the first time.
Sometimes, it’s strange watching him—taking in his features.
It’s like I’ve glimpsed into the future and am seeing the man Gray is destined to become.
They have the same coppery flare of moss and gold in their eyes.
The same nose. The same infectious smile that immediately disarms a person.
The only real difference between them lies in Sterling’s aging lines and the silver threading through his fading brown hair.
“I only acted on what you suggested,” I say after a passing moment. “I would have never thought of something as ludicrous as me participating in Bathara’s entrance exams had your fascinating mind not thought of it.”
Sterling arches a brow, a slight chuckle trickling into his words. “Right. So you made a blood wager on your ability to pass them and gain admittance into the academy instead.”
A dry laugh blows from my lips. “Fair point.”
He smiles, bringing his thumb up to his mouth in thought. His brows wrinkle, and his whole expression—demeanor, even—shifts. “Lyra, I must confess something to you.”
The sharp change in his tone has me tugging at my brows. “What is it?”
He releases a drawn out sigh. “That night with your mother, when the king—”
I cut him off with a raised hand. “I’m aware of the night you’re referencing.”
I don’t attempt to mask a single fracture as it leaks into my expression at the mention. He knows what happened that night with my mother—knows my deepest scars, what plagues my most terrifying nightmares.
Understanding washes through his features, and he nods—as if more to himself than anything else. “That night, after all was done, there was a peculiar shift in the air. I quickly realized the shift was coming from you—was because of you.”
I blink, confused. “Me?”
He dips his chin. “Yes, you. The king felt it, too. He was departing but stopped. And in that moment, I saw two paths emerge before me.”
A knot forms in my chest as a creeping fear blooms in my stomach.
Sterling draws in a slow, measured breath. “Before her passing, your mother suspected your wielding would be…special.” He chooses the last word carefully, and my brows twitch at his choice.
“Special?” I repeat. “How so?”
I mean, I know flora wielders aren’t as common as water or fire-wielders, but they aren’t necessarily rare, either.
Certainly not rare like Gray’s illusionary magic or Sterling’s ability to Seal.
So what could possibly make my magic more special than types like theirs?
Other than the fact that my ability to use it manifested so late.
Sterling rises from his chair. Silently, he moves to the hearth and, to my surprise, pulls a hollowed-out tome from the shelf.
Inside it rests a smaller leather book, worn with age.
He retrieves the tattered thing and repositions the larger tome on the shelf.
On his way back, Sterling gently rests the journal in my lap before returning to his chair.
Once settled, he peaks his fingers over his lips.
“Lyra…I did something that night. Something I have pondered over for many years.” He pauses, an indent forming between his brows.
“In your heightened emotional state, you manifested your ability to wield, and I…I sealed it away , erasing any lingering traces of it from your veins.” He releases a loaded breath.
“I had a decision to make, and I made it. I will not sit before you and argue I made the correct one, but I will sit here before you and tell you I made the decision I thought would keep you safe—would best protect you from the king.”
The world tilts, the fabrics of my understanding with it.
A spectrum of emotions rip through me within an instant. Betrayal, anger, confusion, frustration—yet, regardless of how viscerally each and every emotion hits my heart, my body seems to settle on one. The least suspecting of them all.
Acceptance.
I could get angry with Sterling. I could kick and scream and yell, making declarations like you ruined my life or you lied to me . But what would that really accomplish? What would be the point?
Sterling still took me in as his ward. Still raised me as if I was his own daughter. He and Azalea provided me with a home, with love, with an education—a family. I’m not going to spit on those selfless actions for something I long ago decided is not a necessity to my life. Besides…
Would I have chosen any differently if presented with the same choice?
Sterling’s seen more than I can imagine, being King Alastair’s right hand and all.
So, despite my head telling me I should be angry, it’s the absence of doubt resting in my heart, knowing Sterling made the decision he truly believed would be best for me, that settles me into a calm resignation for that which has passed.
Still, thinking of the past makes that resurfaced memory gnaw at my chest. The one where Sterling, Azalea, and my mother sit in front of the same hearth I sit beside now.
Their whispers. My eavesdropping. My mother’s pleas for aid.
It was a memory buried deep within me. One I had completely forgotten, until it surfaced in a fog of color behind my shut eyes.
I thumb through the yellowed pages of the small book. “So my mother suspected my magic would be special, and you sealed it away to protect me from the king. ”
Though I don’t say it like a question, Sterling still answers, “Yes.”
I do my best to let the weight of that realization settle. “Thank you,” I murmur. “For protecting me when there was no one left to.”
Sterling’s eyes shudder before falling shut, and he looks…relieved. Unburdened, even. Like I’ve just handed him the key to free himself from weighted shackles.