Chapter 38
Thirty-Eight
- LYRA -
At the dinner table, my chest still aches with each breath, reminding me of the hands that had compressed it. The mouth that had breathed life into my lungs.
I slowly draw my gaze down across the table, then up to her on my left.
She’s conversing—or arguing, I suppose—with Aelia, about why those in Millton shouldn’t be subjected to taxes.
And while it seems completely at odds with the traumatic trial we just had earlier today, the normalcy of the conversation comforts me somewhat.
I watch the way her thick eyebrows furrow, those brown eyes sparking with defiance. Her soft lips moving quickly as she balances articulate and intimidating sentences.
She had saved me.
I still fight against the light trembling in my body.
Despite having changed out of the scaled armor and dried my hair, I can’t shake off the lingering terror.
The memory of the fire dragon sweeping through the maze, filling the paths with fire.
Then being plunged into the water before I had time to draw a breath. How everything blurred, then faded.
I had thought I was dead. And even still, I still saw the flashes of visions. But this time with the river and two crosses, and a small, quaint home tucked in the hills. Pine trees. A sun that warmed me even in the depths of near-death.
Marcella stops mid-conversation as her eyes slide to me, then widen. Her lips move, but I can no longer hear her.
A river with two crosses.
Gardens, wilting and rotting.
The fog reaching through the forest—
Marcella shakes me, and then everything snaps into focus. “Lyra, are you alright?”
Taking a quick breath and opening my eyes wider to clear away the sense of distance, I respond, “Yes. Sorry.” I shake my head and look down at my plate, stabbing a slice of cheese with my fork and bringing it to my mouth. Another opportunity to not say anything as the flashes fade away.
Aelia looks at me with worry. She reaches across the table for me, then stops as Lady Bethany heads in our direction.
“Well done in your second trial today, girls,” Lady Bethany chimes as she walks around us to the other side of the table behind Aelia, her fingertips grazing the back of the chair.
“Drink up. We celebrate your lives tonight, and I better not see a single drop wasted. Aelia, you have been selected for the King’s company tonight.
Please rise and follow the General out to meet him. ”
Aelia dips her head and leaves. I watch her go with longing, wishing it were me instead. I haven’t had any other private meetings with Cyrus since the night we kissed. I’m starting to worry it was a huge mistake for him, and that’s why he hasn’t selected me.
It’s also in part why I’ve been uncomfortable with the thought of getting Devin alone.
Marcella wants me to get a private moment with him so I can figure out what our so-called agreement is.
But any time I think of facing him, I think of the last time we spoke.
After he witnessed the heated moment between me and Cyrus.
Lady Bethany assumes a seat at the head of the table down from us.
I pull the wine glass closer to me, staring down at the dark red liquid suspiciously. Then lift it to my lips.
Marcella nudges her foot into my ankle, and I slide her a side-eye. “What?”
“Don’t.”
“She’ll know if we don’t.” I nod toward Lady Bethany down the table before sniffing the chalice. “And besides, it’s not poison.”
“And you think you know what poison would smell like?” she hisses.
“They’re not going to outright kill us. Otherwise, they would have just left us out in the maze to survive as long as we could against the dragon, rather than subduing it and pulling us out.”
“Wyvern,” she corrects.
“Whatever,” I mutter and swirl the wine in my glass.
After Marcella resuscitated me, we only had to go one more hedge over before we made it to the finish.
Surprisingly, we weren’t the last of the women to complete it.
And as far as I know, no one asked questions about those who weren’t as lucky.
Or how many were in the infirmary. It’s far too soon.
But I remember the woman lying broken. The way her body was twisted, eyes blank. That’s at least one dead. And the other screams we heard…It wasn’t just her.
I take a drink.
“Weren’t you the one cautioning me not to drink it weeks ago, suggesting it was laced?” she whispers.
I set the cup down. “If it’s the same ratio of opium poppies they used last time, then I welcome the ease tonight.”
Her eyebrows lift. “Lyra Goldbrook. You’re becoming quite the nonchalant.”
“I suppose death can have that effect sometimes, hmm?” I swing a look to her.
She stares back at me for a long time. Then, dips her head with an understanding deeper than words.
I grab my glass and take another drink. Scowling at the taste as Marcella takes a sip of hers. “Thank you, by the way.”
“For what?” Marcella asks around her wine glass.
“For saving my life.”
She snorts, then takes another sip. She wiggles her fingers of her other hand. “I owed it to you, remember?”
I angle my shoulders toward her and ask, “You still would have, though, even if you hadn’t?”
She slides a look to me. “Don’t push your luck. Briarstone, remember?”
I can’t help the smile lifting my lips as I hold back a laugh, rolling my eyes. The wine is already settling within me and easing the tension I’ve held on to for so long.
We spend the rest of the dinner rather quiet as everyone else chatters around us. I prefer it. It gives me time to decompress after the trial. For once, I’m grateful Marcella isn’t one for small talk.
A guard descends the stairs into the dining room, stopping by Lady Bethany and whispering in her ear.
She nods, then clasps her hands together before announcing, “Girls, I’m thrilled to announce that after King Cyrus and Aelia have concluded their dinner together, they’ll join us here for a celebration. King Cyrus has a special treat planned for us as a thank you for completing today’s trial.”
Excitement ticks the conversations around us up a tone. Taking a few more sips of wine, I lower my head and whisper, “What do you think the special treat is?”
Marcella shakes her head, her long earrings jingling at the movement. “I don’t know. Your guess would be as good as mine.”
“Have you spoken to him recently? You haven’t mentioned him much since last week.”
She rests her fork on her plate, not looking my way. “No, I haven't spoken to him recently. We’ve both been…quite busy.”
When she pats a cloth napkin to the corners of her mouth, I narrow my eyes.
Sure, she’s spent a lot of time with me recently.
Especially at night, helping me hone my Seer abilities.
She told me she’d meet with him after we were dismissed to our rooms, but has been coming early to dedicate as much time as she can to our trainings.
She was supposed to investigate whether Cyrus was drawn to any of the other women. If I was the only one he kissed. What if she had asked—and he had an answer she was too afraid to tell me? That maybe Cyrus didn’t fancy me as much as I thought he did.
The conversations around us snap into silence as everyone swings their faces up to the staircase. Several guards spill in through the doors, then fan out to the side. Slipping between them is Aelia with a glowing smile, her arm linked in Cyrus’s. She gives him a look of adoration.
All of us push out of our chairs and bow.
As they descend the stairs together, Aelia’s gown flowing behind her gracefully, she looks to be everything a Queen should. Especially next to Cyrus dressed in all black. It accentuates Aelia’s blue gown.
Blue.
I drop my gaze from them and slowly scan the women at the rest of the table. All dressed in varying shades of red, orange, yellow, green, and purple. Then down to my own.
Also blue.
When I glance back up, Cyrus dips his head to Aelia and presses a kiss to the back of her hand before motioning for us to take our seats. Then he walks away from our dining table toward the corner of the room, to a grand piano surrounded by lit candelabras.
The room falls quiet with anticipation as Cyrus flicks his coat back and takes a seat at the tufted bench.
From this angle, his profile is sharp against the glow of candlelight behind him.
The straight slope of his nose, down to the soft set of his lips.
A proud chin that dips to his throat as he swallows.
His eyes close. Lifting his gloved fingers to the keys, he’s frozen there for a moment. And then his fingers move. Deft and delicate. Playing the keys like it’s as simple as breathing. He carries off into a melody that slowly relaxes my jaw until it finally drops open.
I know that tune. It’s the same song that I’ve been humming for years to quiet my panic and glimmers. Had it all been a vision? All leading me to this moment? That here, now, is where I’m supposed to be?
Covering my mouth with my fingers, I rest an elbow on the table, leaning forward as if I might be able to ingrain the soft music into my mind. There to replay it over as many times as I’d like.
A chair screeches, and Marcella rises to her feet. “Excuse me,” she mutters, and scurries away.
I reach for her hand, wondering what’s gotten into her, but she moves too quickly. Lady Bethany rises from the end of the table, attempting to stop her, but she brushes past. Lady Bethany signals for the guards to follow her.
As Marcella gathers her skirts and makes her way up the stairs and slips out of the room, two guards shadow her.