Chapter 38 #2
Cyrus’ music stops. His fingers are still on the keys, head lowered with his eyes closed.
We all break out into scattered applause, until eventually we all rise out of our seats and clap louder.
Cyrus opens his eyes slowly, staring at the piano before him.
Dropping his hands from the keys, he rises with a hesitant grin before taking a bow.
Once he straightens, he gestures to a quartet lying in wait in the opposite corner of the room.
On cue, they all slip into a new melody.
Willow taps a finger on the table toward me. “Would you like to dance?”
“Oh.” I blink. “Sure, yes.”
I haven’t spoken with her often these last few weeks. Don’t know much about her, other than she almost touched the opium poppies, and was the first person to tell me of the coin we’re sent home with if we’re excused.
And she wants to dance with me?
I toss one last glance at the double doors that lead out of the dining room, figuring I’ll go check on Marcella if she isn’t back by the time we conclude our dance. Maybe she ran to the restroom?
Willow and I, along with several other ladies, take a place out on the dance floor.
“Did you want to be the lead, or shall I?” Willow asks.
“If you can lead, I’d prefer it. Dancing is not my forte.”
“That’s too bad,” she says with a grin. “Though, I suppose fair for the rest of us. You can’t be the best at everything, you know.”
We assume our positions and step into a swaying dance with the rest of the pairs around us as I prompt, “What do you mean by that?”
“Well…” she rolls her neck like she’s looking for the answer in an arch above me.
As she stretches, her ruby and diamond-clustered earrings glitter in the light.
“I only mean that you’re ethereally gorgeous.
And you pick up Lady Bethany’s lessons so quickly.
Everyone gets along with you, even Marcella.
You’re a scholar in botany, as you proved when you warned me not to touch the opium poppies.
And so I only find it fair that you have to be bad at something. ”
I snort. “I’m bad at a lot of things, actually.”
“Oh? Do go on.”
“Like…” I glance around her in the room as if it’ll stir a memory in me. “Swimming. I can’t swim. And I can’t dance very well.”
“But you sing, though, right?”
I squint in confusion. “How did you know that?”
“I heard you singing the other night.”
“The other night? In our rooms?”
“After the screams, yes,” she murmurs with a distant smile.
I stop swaying with her. “What do you mean, the screams?”
“Oh,” she takes her hand off my ribs to wave dismissively, “the nightmares, I mean. I have them just about every night. Lady Bethany assures me they’re simply figments of my imagination. And that soon, I won’t have to worry about them anymore.”
The color seeps from my face. Surely it must be side effects from opium poppies? “Lady Bethany says soon there won’t be any more screams?”
“Yes, because there won’t be any left to scream.” Willow smiles, oddly out of place with the statement.
I completely freeze. Pulling my hand straight out of hers, I search her face but find no terror. That only chills me more.
“Lyra?” she whispers. Her hand tightens on my waist. “Is something wrong?”
I pull away, out of her grasp. “I don’t want to dance anymore.”
She steps forward, grabbing my waist and hand again. “I’m sorry if I frightened you, Lyra. It’s just the trials—they’ve been getting to me. I just want to talk to you.”
I toss a glance behind me, searching for some excuse, or someone to help me get out of this situation.
“Lyra, don’t be like this.” Her hand grips mine until I can feel my pulse in my fingers. “Come on. You’re overreacting.”
When I turn back to face her, I’m like a deer caught by a hunter, my heart beating in my chest and eyes wide. “Please let go of me, Willow,” I whisper pathetically.
She tugs me to the right, trying to force me back into a dance. “You don’t need to be afraid. I’m not the one that will hurt you—” Her voice distorts, becoming layered over by a deeper, eerie tone. “You cannot run from me.”
A rush of the visions I had before flicker over me in waves.
A forest of creeping fog.
Blue roses scattering a hill.
Someone’s warm hand, holding mine.
A mirror shattering.
I find enough courage to rip my hand out of hers once more, and wiggle out of her grasp. When she lunges to try and grab me again, I smack her hand away. Her eyes narrow, and she tries harder.
The beast’s slithery voice rolls over me in a chill. “Come to me, and I won’t hurt the others.”
Willow continues trying to recapture me, until I shove her chest away from me. With a squeal, she falls back, landing on her rear as she looks up at me, that distant look in her eyes finally gone. The rest of the women stop, turning to look at us in whispered gasps.
“What is wrong with you?” Willow hisses, glaring at me.
Shaking my head, I scurry away toward the farthest part of the room.
Away from her. Nearly tripping over my skirts before I gather them to give me better strides.
I pass the dance floor, bursting into the reflection room and shutting the door before I slam my back against it. As I glance around, I freeze.
Two women are on the loveseat. Moe is pinning Stella’s knees behind her to the cushions, and she stops licking Stella, who’s halfway through a moan, when they both notice me.
“Oh…my.” I gather my skirts and fumble for the door, attempting to shield my eyes. “I am so, so sorry for the intrusion—”
Moe returns to devouring Stella with open-mouthed eagerness, Stella’s legs quivering as she slips her hand into Moe’s hair with a cry.
What in the hells is happening? Am I hallucinating?
I slip back out of the reflection room. Only to find Devin strolling toward me.
“Are you alright?” he pauses, flicking his attention behind him toward the dance floor. “What was all that about?”
When his eyes slide back to me, I nearly crack under all the shock of everything that just unfolded in the last twenty-four hours.
The trial. Drowning. Almost burning alive.
Willow’s haunting remarks. The creature’s voice in my mind beyond nightmares.
Everything swarms me in an endless torrent that has the room is spinning.
“Hey,” Devin whispers, taking a step closer. “Hey, look at me. You don’t look well. Do you need to sit down?” He brushes past my arm, reaching for the reflection room door.
“No!” I blurt, grabbing his arm. Wanting to protect the two women in the room. I’m unsure if they’d be punished. What would they do if they found the women mingling in more romantic affairs?
“I-…I-” I freeze when his eyes narrow at me in suspicion. Shaking my head to shake out some answer. “I can’t speak here.”
Understanding falls across his face. “Come here,” he whispers and tugs me off toward the corner of the room, then turns down a dimly lit hallway. “King Cyrus is with Willow right now. I imagine he’ll want to speak with you next, so we have to be quick.”
Devin stops at the dead end of the hallway. Turning to the left wall and grabbing the bottom of a sconce, he twists it counterclockwise. The wall shifts to reveal a hidden door. Devin ushers me into the dark room beyond it, and I toss one quick look down the quiet hallway before I enter.
It's a room only lit by the moonlight washing through tall, skinny windows lining one wall. Rain patters against the glass.
Rain.
That vision flashes through me, now haunting me both awake and asleep. Me standing in a building with the roof caved in and rain pouring down around me.
Devin slides the door closed behind us, yanking me back to reality.
The room is small. A patterned rug takes up the majority of the floor, and four tufted chairs are in a circle. More floral dragon wallpaper decorates the walls. But aside from that, it’s rather plain compared to the rest of the castle.
“What is this room?” I turn around to face Devin. My skin prickles in goosebumps now that I’m alone. With Devin.
He takes a step toward me, lifting his hands in a silent show of friendliness. “It’s a hideaway. There are several throughout the castle in the event there's an attack. I figured I’d bring you here so you can speak freely—the walls are soundproof.”
That doesn’t make me feel any better. I step back slowly, my hands grazing over the nearest armchair and my heel clipping the foot of it. I stumble but catch myself as he walks slowly to me.
“Lyra, it’s alright. I’m not going to harm you. You didn’t look well, and this was the only place I knew I could speak to you in private.” His voice is soft when he motions to a chair. “Please…take a seat for a moment.”
Keeping my eyes on him the whole while, I slowly sink into a chair. Without lowering his hands or turning his back to me, he slides sideways until he’s in front of the chair across from me. And sits.
He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Has the trial shaken you? Do you need something stronger to dull your fear?”
“What do you mean by stronger?”
“The wine at dinner. Lady Bethany knew the second trial in particular would be emotionally distressing.”
“You have been drugging us.” The words feel bitter in my mouth as I say them. “You’ve been using a stronger dosage of the opium poppies beyond just pain relief, haven’t you?”
His eyes are soft, mouth tight. He doesn’t need to respond for me to know it’s the truth.
I press on, “You realize aside from heavy sedation, it also creates intense hallucinations? Do you understand how terrifyingly realistic they feel?” Like my reflection blinking out of sync. The vivid dreams.
His voice is grave. “I imagine it’s not enjoyable. But perhaps a little more bearable than what the trials are putting you through.”
“You don’t know that.”
He dips his head. “You’re right, perhaps I don’t—”
“What happens if you aren’t careful, or if someone’s tolerance is lower than the others, and they overdose? What then?”
He shakes his head slowly, keeping his voice incredibly gentle. “We’re taking necessary precautions to ensure that doesn’t happen.”
A slight shake takes life in my limbs, and I cross one leg over the other to smother it. My muscles tense to keep it under control. “I don’t want to be here anymore.” My statement comes out more as a whimper.
“Lyra,” he sighs, dropping out of his chair onto his knees and inching forward until he’s crouched before me. He looks up at me, backlit by the moonlight. “Lyra you can’t go home.”
I shift slightly away from him. “And why is that?”
He motions out to the door. “Because you’re needed here.”
“Needed here for what? If you know what ails me, then you know I’m also the worst candidate to be a Queen. There’s no cure for me. And time will only tell if it gets worse. I’m a liability.”
He grabs my ankle, sending shockwaves up my body as he whispers, “You are not a liability. Out of everyone here, you are the most suitable.”
“I would have died today, several times over, if it weren’t for Marcella—”
“You would have survived just fine without Marcella,” he snaps back.
I quiet. Eyes round as I have nowhere else to look but him. His hand is still wrapped around my ankle. And if I weren’t so confused, mind so blazingly hazy, I would’ve been blushing profusely. Perhaps moving away from his hand.
A few puffs of our breath fill the silence before he continues, “Lyra, you have to believe me. You have to believe in yourself. I need you to win his hand. It cannot be anyone else.”
“You also know then that I shouldn’t have children? To not pass it down? I imagine the king needs an heir.”
“Yes he does, but there would be no concern of you having children.”
I blurt out, “And how do you know? What is it you want from me for your silence? What was our agreement before I came here?”
His hand slides slowly off my shin. My cheeks burst into heat, skin still tingling at the slow tease of his touch before it was gone. Waiting for an answer I stare at him. At the sculpted angles of his cheekbones and jaw. Those soft eyes regarding me, and the curvature of his lips. His throat.
He’s handsome.
I rip my gaze away quickly, aware of how long I’ve lingered, my heart hammering in my chest. The wine has scrubbed away my ability to block such devious thoughts.
Thoughts of what I’d do if he left that hand on my leg.
Grazed it higher until it slipped beneath my skirts.
If he pressed his lips against mine, what it would feel like. How he might taste—
“Lyra,” he says my name so softly.
I force myself up out of the chair, tempted to fan my face. “Take me back to the ballroom,” I demand breathily.
Whatever was in that wine that Devin mentioned Lady Bethany was using on us—it can’t be trusted in a dark, soundproof room alone with wild-running thoughts and a handsome man.
Am I losing my mind?