Chapter 29
Carys
One moment I’m soaring sky-high, and the next I’m plummeting back down to reality.
Moments after I’m dressed in my regular attire again, a knock on the door brings a summons to my mother’s chamber.
Tiernan and I practically run across the castle, and I barge into my mother’s bedchamber, expecting the worst.
Instead, she’s sitting up in bed, wide awake.
I nearly collapse, relief and surprise washing over me. “Mum …” It comes out as a pant as I try to catch my breath.
“My sweet cariad,” she says. Her voice is hoarse, her words languid, but I couldn’t be happier. Beside her, Alys is perched on a chair pulled close to the bed. Iywan is nowhere in sight.
Everything about this situation is so odd. I stride toward my mother and take her pleasantly warm hand in mine. Weariness may have dulled the vibrance in her eyes, but they’re lucid, nonetheless. “How … ?” I glance at Alys for a moment, then back at my mother.
“We don’t have much time,” my mother says. “Even now I can feel the drowsiness looming over me.”
My shoulders droop. This isn’t permanent?
“Listen to me, cariad. Don’t let that book of fairytales I gave you out of your possession.”
“Never,” I say, but I’m perplexed she’s chosen to talk about fiction when this is the first time we’ve spoken in weeks. “Mother, I’m so happy to see you so wide awake.”
She smiles and reaches a shaky hand to caress my cheek. A moment later, her hand falls heavily away. She blinks slowly. “Before sleep takes me again, I need you to remember something of the utmost importance.”
I tilt my head at her. “What is it?”
“I need you to remember what happened to your brother.”
My face crumbles, that familiar inexplicable guilt and unease clouding my mind. “Mother, you never told me what happened to Aneirin. How can I remember?”
“Because you were there,” she says. Her words are slower.
Alys’s face is strangely neutral, as though she doesn’t want to give anything away.
“I wasn’t,” I remind my mother. “It wasn’t until I woke up the morning after his death that I found out he was gone. Remember?”
“You … were … Think … about it.” The rise and fall of her chest becomes more prolonged, more prominent. Her gaze dims as she slips back into the prison of her deteriorating mind.
“Mum, stay with me, please. I need to know. Were you also there? Can you tell me?”
No response.
I turn my focus to Alys, silently demanding that she does something. With slight hesitation, she puts her hand over my mother’s. Her eyes close as if she needs to focus, and my mother’s flutter open.
Her breath rasping, my mother says, “You were so young. So very fragile, but so very powerful. My little fireball.” She chuckles.
She’s always described me as her fireball, her feisty fighter, but never as fragile. It throws me off for a moment. “Fragile?”
Her eyes are closed now, but she responds. “You have such a bleeding heart, cariad. You couldn’t help it. You needed to learn to control it. I should’ve taught you. The necklace was the best I could think of …”
My hand moves to my amulet. I straighten and try my best not to look at my mother as though she’s gone completely mad. “I’ll take care of the necklace, Mum. Always. I promise.”
Her eyes flutter opened again. “I’m sorry I took your memory. You would have been distraught. And if anyone else had found out … It would’ve meant your death. Perhaps even mine.”
Magdin’s tits. What is she talking about?
“I was too afraid to be brave for you, so you have to find that courage yourself.”
“Afraid of what? Mother, I’m trying to understand, but...”
She smiles sadly at me. “Afraid that if you let yourself remember, you would be vulnerable. But vulnerability does not diminish your strength, Carys. I gave you that necklace after your brother’s death to give you a sense of solace.
But it’s only a dampener—it does not control you. Only you can do that.”
Dear gods, she’s completely incoherent. A fresh wave of guilt joins the cacophony of emotions clawing at me.
My shoulders tense and I press my lips firmly together, begging my patience not to unravel.
For so long, I’ve been desperate to have a conversation with her, to lay out the hundreds of unanswered questions that have piled up in my mind.
And now, she can only speak in riddles. Now, I have even more unanswered questions.
My heart breaks all over again.
“Talk to me, cariad.”
“I—” The words flee from me and my eyes sting. I reach for her hand, my own trembling. “I want you to get better,” I say, and my voice is barely louder than a whisper.
Her eyes flutter closed. “You’re not listening.” Her words aren’t gentle anymore, nor is the grip of her hand on mine.
My chest tightens and I feel like a child being disciplined. My mind spirals back to an image:
I’m five years old again, weeping in a corner.
My mother, so much younger than she is now, is the picture of serenity as she kneels before me.
“I know it feels overwhelming,” she says.
“This will help.” She slips the necklace over my head and the pendant settles heavily against my chest, instantly placating me.
I blink as I fall back into myself. The memory was so vivid that, for a moment, I’m befuddled by the woman, sixteen years later, withering away before me. “Mum?”
“Still here, my sweet child,” she says. “I have made many regrettable blunders. But never forget how much I love you. I’ve only ever wanted to protect you.”
I nod, tears brimming. This is too much like a farewell. It’s too painful to bear. I worry at my lower lip before saying, “Please, don’t go.” My voice comes out thick with tears.
A moment later, her head lolls, and Alys jumps to her feet as my heart tumbles into my stomach. Leaning close to check her breathing, her fingers lightly resting on her throat, Alys says, “Just asleep.”
I release a sigh of relief.
“Help me lay her down again.”
I nod and we get my mother onto her back once more.
I stare down at her, zipping the pendant back and forth along the chain of my necklace.
I should be the one in that bed, losing my mind, losing my life.
Not her. This kingdom needs her. She would know what to do about the rebellion, about the questionable choices of the Forayers and the leniency they’re given. About Iywan and the bloody Council.
How am I supposed to get the Council and Iywan to take me seriously when they consider me but a mere child?
Iywan was the most incredible advisor to my mother.
Together, they were a force to be reckoned with.
He respected her as the queen and his friend, but he can’t see beyond the child he still thinks I am.
Beyond the child who can’t control herself.
When my father died, Iywan was there for me. When my mother’s time comes, I fear it won’t be the same.
“Carys.” Alys’s voice is quiet. I’d almost forgotten she was there.
I startle, my mind reeling back. “How did you … ? Did you do something to make her lucid?”
“It’s unfortunately temporary,” Alys says.
“Why temporary?” I snap.
“Her body is failing. All treatments right now are like putting a bandage on a festering wound. I’m truly sorry, dear one.”
Failing. Festering wound. My stomach curdles. “Look at me and tell me there’s absolutely no hope.” My voice trembles even as I try to sound brave.
Those grey, weary eyes of Alys’s brim with tears and my heart fractures. Alys’s posture straightens and her lips form a line.
Her silence is loud enough.
Indebted to Durvla for not only making my dress but always being so patient with me, I send word to Barr na Cahar to have a dress made for her. Ellynne helps with sizing estimates and specifications. Durvla is going to look better than any noble.
My mother’s state remains unchanged, yet the palace becomes busy with preparations for the Feast. Decorators come in and out of the castle, foreign foods are imported, and various guests take up residence in our visitors’ quarters. It’s a welcome distraction from my nightly unrest.
My staff put on their best professional behavior—except for Eefa whose advances nearly earn her a trip to my bed.
Callum doesn’t hide the disappointment on his face, and for the first time, guilt convinces me to turn Eefa away.
I need to talk to him when this Feast is over.
To both of them. I need to reduce the distractions in my life—become queenlier, I suppose.
After all, I’ll be betrothed shortly after the Feast.
There is fire everywhere. It billows out from beneath the door even as I slam it shut behind me. I tear off down the palace corridor. “Help!” I cry out, the smoke triggering a violent fit of coughing. “Please! Anybody!” Fear fills me as surely as smoke and ash fill my lungs.
A beam crashes from the ceiling, cutting off my only escape.
The wood splinters, embers and ash flying.
I back away, my forearm over my nose and mouth.
I cough and cough until my throat is raw, until I can’t stop wheezing.
Collapsing to my knees, I stare helplessly as the flames grow larger, black smoke obstructing everything around me.
A book materializes on the ground in front of me, and as I reach for it, the symbol of the sun on the cover glows brighter than the flames. As quickly as it appears, it vanishes.
“Don’t fear the flames,” a familiar voice says. “Reach out.” My mother’s voice?
The flames close in on me, and my eyes dart around, my vision blurring. “Mother?” I cry, but there’s no one there.
“Reach out, cariad.”
The flames are so near now that the heat stings my skin. The silhouette of a feminine form seems to appear in the fire directly in front of me. Plumes of smoke circle around her. Then in an instant, the silhouette disappears again.
I shut my eyes, holding my breath, ready to face my death as the flames blast toward me—
I’m catapulted into awareness in a mess of gasps and endless coughing. The taste of ash remains in my mouth, my throat raw. Sweat coats my skin, and my amulet is searing hot against my chest. This same bloody nightmare again! How many times has that been this week alone?
Eventually, the coughing subsides, and I stumble over to ring for Ellynne and Lowri.
I need a cool bath and a goblet of wine or three.