Chapter 48
Irun, caustic black smoke billowing behind me. It nips at my ankles, my neck, scalding me with irreversible decay. My skin dissolves as if drenched with lindwyrm venom, revealing white stripes of bone and withering muscles. I stumble to my knees. My vision glows a spectral blue.
Wealth surrounds me, but the smoke devours it, too. Metal corrodes. Gemstones shatter. I crawl toward a mirror as the glass spiderwebs with cracks. And what I see stops me cold.
Milky white eyes stare at me. Remnants of flesh hang from bone. The draugr’s rotting hand reaches for its hair, dry and stringy with age.
How? How have I become this?
Then a figure approaches behind me. A tall man with dark hair and pointed fae ears, clothed in black. He raises his hands, and I obey, rising with them. Hisses creep from my throat as I approach him, every dragging step controlled by his will.
Hazel eyes stare me down, an unmistakable scar across his chin.
Then Prince Eldon steps out from behind, raises a sword to the necromancer’s neck, and–
I wake in a damp sweat, panting and clenching the sheets. “Sorry, Evie,” I murmur, because it’s impossible that I didn’t wake her.
Except Evie isn’t in bed.
As my hammering pulse slows, I search the dark room for her. Maybe my thrashing woke her up minutes ago, and she went downstairs for a midnight snack. Or, she might’ve left to curl up at the foot of our parents’ bed, figuring being cramped is better than sweaty sheets.
She’s alright. It wouldn’t be like Evie to go out at this hour.
So I lie back down and stare up at the rafters, counting the seconds until fitful sleep can claim me again.
“Girls, get up!” Mom orders from our doorway. “Sun is almost up, and we’ve got a full day ahead of us.”
I blink, bleary as I roll over. “Seriously? You can’t wake us up like this. We’re not children.”
Evie stirs beside me. “Don’t feel good,” she mumbles. “One more hour?”
“Let me think about it.” Mom tilts her head, eyes narrowing. “No.”
“Not fair.” Evie buries her head under her pillow as Mom heads downstairs, tutting about her lazy daughters. “Maybe I’ll take you up on moving to Mythos, Cynthia. I want to sleep forever.”
Why did I not consider that? “You can move without Mom and Dad,” I tell her. “I’ll load them up with marks, and then they’ll be fine without either of us.”
Evie grumbles. “No more chores?”
“You can bet on it.” We finally climb out of bed, Evie yawning and dragging her feet.
“Girls! Come outside immediately!” Mom shouts.
We hurry, pulling on our boots. We shield our eyes from the dawn as a commotion echoes from the center of the village. Mom gestures for us to follow her, even though we’re still in our nightclothes. “There’s a royal crier here. She wants everyone to gather for an announcement.”
Dread rouses me. The last time a crier made us all gather, it was an announcement that tithes would be raised. But the only other reason I can think of. . .
Desmond has assassinated Queen Orla already. And he’s either dead or on the run.
I shudder, remembering my nightmare, remembering the real Desmond. The one who so gently cupped my face when I was hurt. The one who told me stories, despite professing that he never would.
The village elders are at the crowd’s front, surrounding the crier as she toots on a small horn. “A message from her royal highness, Queen Orla Meirden,” she calls out.
The Queen isn’t dead? My palms sweat. I search our neighbors’ faces for any signs that someone knows what’s going on, but they look as confused and anxious as I am.
Evie yawns again, slumping against me.
Everyone hushes as the crier unfurls a scroll of parchment. “By order of the queen, Avedor has declared war on the Hollowlands in light of most foul and traitorous plans. The draft for Avedor’s esteemed army will begin approximately in one week. All males older than–”
The words fade out as my ears ring. The Queen still lives. Desmond failed. Exactly what he wanted to prevent has happened—another war.
“Have the traitors been caught?” I blurt out.
The crier stutters mid-sentence. “Yes. The fae prince and his devious underlings have been imprisoned in Drottheim Keep, awaiting execution. Now, as I was saying. . .”
He’s not dead. They’re not dead. Just captured. Imprisoned. Alive.
Relief sags through me, and I almost cry.
The crier clears her throat. “The woman who revealed this most insidious plot wishes to remain anonymous, but trust that she will be appropriately rewarded by the Queen for both her loyalty and her courage.”
The woman.
I whip around, knocking Evie off balance. She glares at me as she catches herself. “What was that for?”
“Where were you last night?” I hiss.
Her boots are splattered with mud.
“Nowhere,” she says, too quickly.
I point at her boots.
She winces. “I may’ve gone for a ride.”
I grip her arm so tight she cries out. Several heads turn, but they quickly face the crier again. I lean until my mouth hovers over Evie’s ear. “To Mythos? And don’t dare lie to me.”
Evie swallows. She nods.
Ice-cold dread makes my next breath hurt. My heart seizes like it’s stopped beating. “Why did you ride to Mythos?”
“Everything is okay.” Her eyes widen, pleading with me. “I told them you were ensorcelled and they believed me.”
“You what?” I pull her away from the dispersing crowd, charge toward the tree line, and look twice to make sure no one’s followed us. “What did you do, Evie?”
“Let go! You’re scaring me!” she squeaks out.
I let her wrench her arm from my grip, but I’m not letting her get away.
In two steps, I’m between her and the village.
My mind reaches out for blades that I realize I left behind at home.
It’s not that I’d hurt her. I could never hurt Evie.
But I will sure as hell scare her if that’s what it takes to get to the truth.
“You said you hadn’t warned anyone.” She steps back, eyeing the village past me. “So I rode to Mythos. I couldn’t sleep knowing our queen might die. I had to do something.”
“You had to do nothing!” I shout, then lower my voice to a hiss. “You told the Mythos guard that Prince Desmond Vale planned to assassinate Queen Orla?”
Her gaze searches mine like she desperately hopes I’m not really angry. But I am. Really angry.
She went behind my back. If my friends weren’t already doomed to die, trusting Evie made me their executioner.
Me. Panic quickens my pulse until I feel hot with rage.
I look at my wrist, the bare skin where the crescent moon once was.
If it were still there, would I have felt Desmond’s fear when the guards captured him?
Would I have felt his despair when he learned of Orla’s war declaration?
Why do I miss our connection? Why do I suddenly yearn to feel him? The loss is indescribable, irrational, but also undeniable. A part of me will die when he does, soul vow or not.
“You have no idea what you’ve done,” I seethe. “Thousands will die because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut! Because I couldn’t keep mine shut!”
She shakes her head. “Cynthia, I–”
I charge back home. Arguing further isn’t worth my time. My thoughts are whirling for a way to fix this. Break them out. That’s what I have to do, and I already know where they’re being held.
The house is a blur as I focus on one thing alone: leaving. The pound of my boots on our bedroom floor is a distant thud, and even Evie shouting my name doesn’t register until she’s tugging on my arm.
“What?” I snap. I break away, then strip out of my nightdress. The clothes Nog made for me are folded in my nightstand. The form-fitting pants. The gambeson vest. The straps for my daggers.
I put it all on with the speed of a madwoman, ignoring Evie until her babbling excuses startle me. “You said they used you!”
“So what if they did? That didn’t give you the right to betray me!” Gods, I should’ve known better. I should’ve known she’d panic. I suck in a breath when I realize that’s precisely why Desmond was reluctant to open up to me. Because, for all my assurances, I didn’t keep my mouth shut.
She wrings her hands. “But I felt complicit!”
My own guilt curdles my insides. “I trusted you!” I snap, and I know half the anger is really at myself.
But Evie flinches like I’ve hit her. “I trusted you! And you left us!” she screams, tears streaking down her cheeks.
“You left me worried sick about you! Do you have any idea how selfish that was? I had nightmares every single night that you’d never come home.
That a fae took you away, or that a troll ate you, or that you just didn’t love us anymore! ”
The accusation rings, the air between us heavy and tense.
“You can’t leave again,” Evie begs. “I don’t care where we are, Nettlerock or Mythos, but we’re sisters! We’re supposed to stick together!”
“I don’t want to!” I yell back.
She gasps. Her lips quiver.
I wince as I turn away from her. I shouldn’t have said that.
Yet as angry as I am, I can’t bring myself to take it back.
“I have to go.” I throw my belongings into my pack, barely registering what I grab.
A hairbrush. A pouch of gold coins from the tomb.
A handful of jewelry, other valuables that I barely glance at, and Olin’s crown.
I don’t know what getting help will cost me, but I’m leaving my family with more than enough to start new lives.
If they choose to.
Evie slams her palms against my back, startling me. “You can’t abandon me here, Cynthia! I didn’t want the treasure. I wanted you!”
She’s a fountain of grief and rage. It pains me to my core, but I don’t give in.
“Evie, listen to me. I will never be happy here. I will never be satisfied with the life that you want. I brought the treasure so I could finally leave and lied to everyone that it wasn’t selfish, most of all myself.
But you know what? I have a right to be selfish. I have a right to want my own life.”
I force her hands off my shoulders, entwining her fingers with mine. “While I was gone, I found myself. I belonged somewhere, Evie. Nothing will keep me here in Nettlerock,” I whisper. “Not even you.”
Evie chokes back a cry as I step away. She watches me leave, but she doesn’t follow. And I don’t look back, even when she lets the sobs rack through her body.
This time, she doesn’t scream my name as I leave.