Chapter 19
Nineteen
- MARCELLA -
Devin and my’s strained conversation rings like an alarm bell in my mind as I take a seat back at the table where Aelia and Willow are. I can’t shake the terror of Devin tracing my scar.
He knows.
Perhaps he saw the scar the first day we awoke and I was naked, lying in a puddle of blood.
But he knows.
He specifically said he knew where it’s from. And deep down, I know he despises me. Perhaps long ago he had struck me out of jealousy when I was offered his position. Perhaps it was from him? Or…
Cyrus’ elongated teeth flash in my mind. The careful, calculated swing of his stealthy steps anywhere he went. Those white eyes, unlike anything I’ve ever seen.
As I watch Lyra sneak off into a door and close it, followed by Cyrus a minute or two later, my heartbeat thuds in my chest. My focus slips off Aelia and Willow’s conversation beside me.
I take sip after sip of wine to make it look like I am busy as I stare at the door Lyra and Cyrus disappeared off to.
I should be concerned.
I tap my fingers on the table nervously as I wait for the door to reopen. The music drags on longer and longer. But neither of them exits.
“Marcella? Are you alright?” Aelia calls, before gently shaking my shoulder. When I turn to her with a raised eyebrow, she whispers, “You look…a bit pale?”
I shake my head, and she leans in closer to mutter, “I know we aren’t close friends, but…you don’t look well. You don’t look yourself.”
I’ve never really had friends. My loyalty lies with my family first. Anyone else after them came second, if at all.
Besides, my career as a soldier didn’t allow for many opportunities to make friends.
I had to prove again and again I was capable.
It’s how I rose so quickly through the ranks as a woman in a male-dominated space, up to the position of a guard in Vitalis.
To King Cyrus’ Close Circle.
Oh…Gods.
I offer Aelia a small smile, responding genuinely. “Thank you, I’m alright. Just exhausted after the trials. They were a bit…taxing on me, mentally and emotionally. Pay me no mind.”
She blinks in surprise at my soft tone, slowly leaning back in her chair. “Alright, well. If you need anything—”
“I’ll be sure to let you know. Thank you, Aelia.”
Her eyes widen, but she nods and turns back to tangle herself into another conversation with Willow. Throwing me quick glances every so often to make sure I’m alright.
But I fixate back on that door. Because I had been in Cyrus’ Close Circle, for years. That’s how he knew me.
He knew I was a lethal weapon the moment we met.
At first, it was tight, formal conversations about security and protocols.
Then, as the years dragged on, I watched that hardened demeanor of his soften.
All starting with the night I couldn’t sleep and had walked through the castle out to the garden courtyards for fresh air.
It was well after midnight, the only sound a gurgling of water fountains and crickets singing in the moonlight. As I walked deeper into the gardens, I saw a soft blue glow. And when I entered the centermost part of the gardens, I found him.
Sitting on the pavers. Back to me. Around him buzzed small flickers of glowing light. Fading and twinkling. As I took step after step closer to him, the lights reacted. Froze in their floating rhythm, before they all blinked out entirely.
Cyrus’ body stiffened, and he turned to look at me over his shoulder. Gone was the regal authority in his expression. All that was left was solemnity. Loneliness. And…a distant sorrow. Heavier than I could have imagined, weighing me down even at the distance between us.
He invited me to stay. We sat there on the pavers, silently watching as the small glowing orbs flickered back into the shadows around us.
When I went to escape, he caught my wrist, wordlessly asking me to wait.
Unable to fight against him, I relaxed. Finding a quiet confidence in him as the glowing lights approached.
Then, they began to float around us in a circle. Never quite getting close enough for me to distinguish what they were, and never close enough for me to feel in danger.
They were beautiful. But after that night, we never spoke about it. Instead, he offered me small smiles. His commands turned into polite requests. And the day he turned to me during a council meeting, seeking my thoughts and advice, the color drained from my face. Something had changed.
I grip the wine glass stem in my fist, still watching the door where Cyrus and Lyra went off to. The reflection room. I remember it well, now.
Because it was there when he leaned into me after an elaborate dinner party with guests from Millton. Shaken, I had slipped off to process the news that my brother had gone missing.
Cyrus met me there and pulled me into an embrace as I tried not to crack under the immense weight of panic and fear. He brushed a hand down my hair. Whispered that he’d dismiss me, if I needed to go back to Millton. To find out where my brother was.
And I did. I left.
That was a year ago.
The emotions swarm me, and I’m forced to relive them again for the first time.
The reflection room door opens, and Cyrus slips out. Looking ever sharp and collected. He walks straight to Devin, and the two of them bend their heads together in conversation before Devin lifts and gestures to his guards.
The dinner bell rings off in the room where Lady Bethany is, and the hushed conversations and music about the space fall quiet as we all turn to her. But I don’t miss Lyra slipping out from the reflection room.
“Girls, the time has come. King Cyrus will now choose who shall move on to the coming weeks, and who shall return home. Please, fan out here, shoulder-to-shoulder.”
Heart thundering, I rise with the rest of the women and make my way over to Lady Bethany.
Lining up as she instructed, Lyra slips in to my right and Aelia on my left.
Our numbers are smaller than what we started with.
At least three women are still in the infirmary.
While Lyra’s made a decent recovery, Moe is still there with broken toes.
Earlier, I overheard Willow explaining to Aelia that the medication would take longer to heal her bones since her injury affected bones, muscles, skin, and nerves.
Apparently Lyra’s burns healed quicker given the fact her injury only affected the muscles and skin.
It should make me feel a little less guilty that she saved me. But it doesn’t.
The three women who died today should also be some sort of comfort to me, knowing it’s reducing the number of suspects I’ll need to consider.
But it doesn’t.
How it doesn’t, when I’ve been trained for death and pain all my life, is a mystery to me.
Cyrus takes a stand in front of us where a grand piano is near the instruments the quartet was playing earlier. On the bench seat is a vase. Tall and gleaming white porcelain, tipped with edges of gold. Sprouting from it are bunches of stunning blue roses.
But not nearly enough for all of us. There are twenty-three of us standing here.
The way he avoids eye contact, looking at everyone but me, solidifies one thing.
I’m going home.
I know it. Perhaps over the last year I’ve lost my edge.
The imprisonment of my brother has rendered me weak.
Maybe somewhere along the way I lost my ability to keep my feelings and work separate.
Something about that day when my brother went missing changed me.
And now, I’m afraid I can never go back.
That’s why I feel guilty.
That’s why I feel angry.
Lady Bethany calls out, “Girls, King Cyrus will call forth the women he wishes to keep here. Those who don’t receive a blue rose will have their memories wiped once more, and be immediately escorted out of the castle to return to their towns.” Then, she steps back away from our view.
Not even a single night to rest after a challenging trial? I roll my jaw to wave off the tension collecting there. Unable to stop myself, I slide my glare to the man responsible for such a quick dismissal. Devin, who’s looking as stoic as ever.
What a wet sock.
Cyrus drops his gaze to the floor, eyebrows pinched as he draws a single rose from the vase. Twisting it in his white-gloved fingers, he stares down at the beautiful flower.
“Aelia,” he calls ruefully.
Aelia steps forward and takes the rose, bowing before him, then taking her spot back beside me. Then he calls Lyra. One by one, he summons each woman to accept the rose. Even calls for Moe in the infirmary, and Lady Bethany takes a rose for her.
I keep my chin held high as the flowers in the vase begin to dwindle.
He grabs the last one, then looks up at me. The rest of the room fades away as the question lingers between us.
Do I stay?
If I want out, the only way I can is if he dismisses me. This would be the night, the moment.
Subtly, I dip my head as I’m locked into his eyes. Past Marcella must have had a damn good reason for wanting to return. She must have known this was the best chance at freeing her brother. Despite the trials, and despite whatever secrets lie in wait, ready to be discovered.
Relief fills me as my name rolls off his lips. “Marcella.”
When I take the rose from him and turn to walk back, there are two misty-eyed women in the group. Both without roses.
Devin motions to the guards, and they move in for the two dismissed women. Some of the others around them bid them sad farewells. As their heels disappear off into the distance, Lady Bethany ushers us toward the stairs out of the dining room.
I don’t miss the quiet command from Cyrus to Devin behind us. “For the other two women in the infirmary with extensive injuries—let them not be escorted out until they’ve completely recovered. And when they have, they shall be afforded the full amount of rewards for if they stayed the entire time.”
When I toss a look over my shoulder, Devin and Cyrus are walking away toward the back corner of the dining room, where the door into a hallway is.
Someone pinches my elbow and when I whip to see who, Lyra mouths hurry up as she turns to scurry after the group. I stride after her, the two of us keeping the back of the line.
As we ascend the stairs, Lady Bethany calls from the top platform, “Well done, girls. We shall turn in for the evening. Today was quite eventful, and tomorrow we shall resume our regularly scheduled lessons. Starting with the reminder to not turn your back to a superior.” Lady Bethany’s gaze glides straight to me.
“Yes, Lady Bethany,” everyone says in unison.
“Yes, Lady Bethany,” I grumble.
Lady Bethany slowly tears her gaze off of me, and we all shuffle through the hallways. Women break off from the groups to head to their rooms. As Lyra brushes past me for hers while the rest of us move for the next hallway, I snag her by the arm.
“Tonight…” I whisper to her, searching her eyes and praying that this isn’t a mistake. “…your room. Midnight.”
Her mouth drops open, but before she can argue, I let go of her arm and motion her back to her door. Clearing her throat, she nods and slips away.