Chapter 24
Twenty-Four
- LYRA -
Fog hangs thick in the forest, rendering even the trees beyond into blurred shadows. I nearly collide with a trunk as I race through the forest, still clipping my shoulder against its edge and stumbling.
That lurching sense of dread creeps up from behind me. Drawing closer and closer. I cut left, leaping over a ravine. The tension that spiked the hairs on my neck ceases slowly.
I’ve gotten away.
As I turn to face the direction the fear came from, nothing is there. Nothing but fog and trees.
Snap.
I whip toward the sound of a broken branch to my left.
There, in the soft dirt, a trail of footprints draws eerily closer to me.
Footprints that look less human the nearer they get.
Yet no silhouette, no body hovers above the prints.
I step back slowly, eager to keep the distance between me and the prints.
“You cannot run from me,” the voice growls in my head, sending ravens off the trees above us with startled cries.
The prints stop. For a moment, I think it’s gone.
A sudden weight slams into my chest, heated jaws closing over my throat as I fall back onto the dirt.
I bolt up out of bed, grabbing my throat and taking a wheezing breath. As I rub my fingers over the skin, there’s a tenderness there.
I have to start humming to calm my nerves the rest of the morning. Especially once I’ve been led to the bathroom by the lady’s maids. They help me bathe, dry me, and slip me into a chemise.
When I finally look at myself in the mirror as the lead lady’s maid brushes my hair, I notice faint marks along the column of my neck.
“Lyra, are you alright?” the lead lady’s maid—Nora, I’ve learned—asks softly. When I look at her finally, she smiles. “Do you still feel ill?”
I force a small grin. “No, I’m quite well, thank you. Nerves, I think.”
She drops her hand from my face, eyes scanning my throat. Gently, she traces the outside of them. “Are you allergic to anything?”
“Not that I recall, why?”
She frowns, cocking her head to the side. “Have you been scratching your throat?”
“Not that I know of…” I whisper.
“Hmm, could be a reaction to the pain medication, then.”
I nod, taking my eyes off hers to my hands in my lap. I’m really trying to accept her theory.
The other two lady’s maids come into the bathroom with multiple gowns to choose from. Nora finishes pinning my hair and helps me stand. All four gowns they present me with are blue.
I shake my head, looking at Nora. “Do you have…anything else to choose from?”
Her gray eyebrows scrunch together. “Why? These are the finest-made gowns. Is there something wrong with them?”
Taking my gaze out of hers, I gently brush a finger over one of the skirts. “Do you have anything in a different color? Something other than blue?”
“Blue brings out the color in your eyes…” she answers. “It’s your color.”
“What do you mean, my color?” Dropping my hand from the dress I turn to her.
One of the other lady’s maids chirps, “We do have one other that isn’t blue in the wardrobe.”
Nora flips her attention back and forth between us. “Alright. Let her choose, then.”
The maid who suggested another dress scurries away and returns with a cream-colored one littered with dainty pale pink and blue flowers on the light fabric.
Nora motions to it and the other two blue gowns the other lady’s maid holds. “Lady Bethany will have my head if we don’t have you out of here within the next few minutes. So choose quickly.”
I change into the cream-colored one. The maids sweep me out of the room into the hallway, where other women are also exiting their rooms to my left and right.
Across the crowd, I catch the brown eyes of Marcella, before the others shuffle between us, blocking my vision of her.
Once we get to the dining room, we all descend the steps and take our normal seats.
Marcella to my left. Aelia across from me, who tosses timid glances at the both of us.
“I’ve missed you two,” she whispers. “I’m glad to see you back.”
We both nod, keeping our eyes down as Lady Bethany circles around to the head of the table.
She clasps her hands, smiling at me and Marcella. “Well done, girls. I applaud you all for your timely arrivals. As a reminder, you are here to compete for the hand of the King. And as our time here goes on, our challenges shall only become more difficult.”
She circles around the table, coming to stop behind us. Leaning forward, she rests her hands on the back of our chairs, her head between us as she whispers, “I trust you two will now adhere to all our rules?”
“Yes, Lady Bethany,” we say in unison, our gazes on the table before us.
“Good!” Her smile peaks with her voice. Then, she straightens and regains her position at the head of the table nearest us. “You two will not mind that I sit here beside you, then?”
“Of course not, Lady Bethany,” we murmur.
She takes a seat and snaps her attention to the servers near the walls, bobbing her head. Moments later, they return, lining our tables with fruits, pastries, and cheeses.
My mouth waters at the closest sugar-dusted roll. I hadn’t eaten all day yesterday. I imagine that was in part a punishment. As I stretch out to pluck it up, a lace fan smacks the back of my hand.
“Lyra? Are you hungry?”
I turn slowly, my hand still held toward the pastry as I glide my attention to Lady Bethany.
She smiles at me. “Did I not give you something to nourish your body yesterday?”
Blinking, I retract my hand. “Yes. Yes, you did.”
Marcella taps me underneath the table in warning.
Lady Bethany tilts her head to the side, her earrings glittering in the sunlight. “Did you not consume it?”
“Of course I did, Lady Bethany.”
“The medication I brought you surely should have quelled any sort of hunger for at least thirty-six hours.”
Dipping my head, keeping my eyes away from hers, I say, “You’re correct, Lady Bethany. I’m afraid my tongue desired more than my stomach.”
“Ahhh,” she whispers. Though, her tone doesn’t sound convinced. “I see. Though, I shall warn you, indulging right now will be…very unpleasant for your stomach. I highly suggest abstaining.”
I slide my hand underneath the table, ignoring the gnawing hunger in my stomach. Praying it doesn’t grumble and give me away.
“Aelia,” she chimes, turning her head to the blonde-haired beauty. “I trust you’ll keep an eye on these two? I must go speak with the General, to see if we are approved to have our lesson outside today.”
“Of course, Lady Bethany,” Aelia responds.
Lady Bethany rises and walks to Devin across the room, and Aelia glances at her from her peripheral vision. She whispers, “Are you two alright?”
“Yes,” Marcella answers, her hands in her lap.
Aelia’s suspicion is as sharp as her narrowed eyes bouncing back and forth between us. “Lady Bethany said you two were sick…?”
We both subtly shake our heads, and Aelia leans slightly forward. “You were not? Were you punished for being late the other night?”
I open my mouth. “I think—”
Marcella kicks my foot, and I quiet as she responds instead, “Yes. We’ve learned our lesson about being punctual. And will be following Lady Bethany’s orders from here on out.” She slides a cautious look at me.
Aelia leans back in her chair. “You didn’t miss much after breakfast yesterday. We only repeated the lesson on how to ‘properly’,” she mocks Lady Bethany’s tone, “fold napkins. Quite the bore.”
“Marcella,” Devin calls out at the top of the steps near the door to the outside hallway, while Lady Bethany descends the steps.
Devin motions to Marcella. “Come with me.”
Marcella’s long, elegant throat bobs, and she tosses me one quick look. Then she’s up out of the seat. The burgundy-colored dress slides over the marbled floors behind her as she makes her way out.
“What is going on, Lyra?” Aelia’s whisper snags my attention. Her blue eyes are wide as she scans me. “Has Marcella done something to you? You seem different…is she influencing you in some way?”
“No, of course not!”
“Is she threatening you?” she asks more quietly, glancing at my throat.
I lean forward to reiterate. “No.”
She searches my face in disbelief. “You aren’t one to be tardy. And ever since you came to the ball with her, you’ve been…off.”
“I’m just nervous, is all. The trials have shaken me, and the elimination has added so much stress. I don’t want to go home. I want King Cyrus to choose me.”
She lifts her teacup and takes a sip. “As do we all.”