54. You Can’t Unring a Bell
They rode the entire way home in silence. Lyra regretted what she had said to him, but she had been petrified of the longing in his eyes and the magic that had coiled within her.
She couldn’t feel that magic anymore though; it was as if her magic had vanished.
And it was for the best that he knew now who she was, so he could save himself from her.
She couldn’t stop watching him as she pretended to read. It hurt to look at him, but it hurt even more to look away and miss a single fleeting moment.
There were already so few left.
Lyra had made up her mind. She must return to the water.
When she returned to the castle, she would work day and night to understand her magic so that she could break the tithe and return home.
Where she belonged—with the other monsters. She didn’t deserve the kindness that the land had offered her, and it was killing her.
Wilder sighed through his nose, and Lyra raked her gaze across him, trying to find the source of his discomfort.
When his eyes met hers, she looked at her book as if she hadn’t been looking at him at all. The words blurred together, and her chest tightened with each passing moment.
The castle gates came into view, and Wilder thumped a fist on the ceiling of the coach.
When the wheels creaked to a stop, he flung open the door and stepped outside.
“Truce over,” he said, slamming the door shut behind him.
Lyra’s eyes burned, and she buried her head in her hands.
She had screwed this all up—royally. And it hurt.
It hurt like the slicing of her tail into two legs. It hurt like her missing the sea, but feeling like she no longer belonged. It hurt like her magic, siphoning off her life.
The carriage proceeded, but instead of passing through the castle gates, it took the long way around again. It looked like she wouldn’t be getting to see the city after all.
She couldn’t find it in her heart to care. She had cared too much already, and it had brought her misery.
Lyra gave herself time to grieve. Not a long enough time, but more time than she gave herself for the ocean. She reached out to touch the water dripping down her cheeks.
A single tear clung to her fingertip and then fell onto her emerald gown. She studied it, the water that sprang from her eyes, reminding her of all that she had lost.
As the carriage pulled up to the castle at last, Lyra wiped her tears away and shoved the rest of her anguish down.
She had a bargain to uphold, and she needed to get to work.