Chapter 24 #2
"So you can have the body. You can have the crown. You can have the kingdom. But you will never have what she had."
He turned and walked out.
Iraia stood alone in the center of the throne room, my chest heaving, my hands shaking, my face wet with tears that weren't mine.
And deep inside, in the dark where she'd locked me, I wept too.
But not from grief.
From hope.
He knew. He knew. He knew.
___
The days that followed were a slow erosion of everything I'd built.
Iraia tried to rule. She really did. She held court with perfect etiquette, dispensing justice with the balanced hand of a woman who believed in honor and tradition.
She dismissed the commoners' petitions with gentle regret instead of my usual blunt force.
She negotiated with the council instead of threatening them.
She wore silk instead of leather, spoke in poetry instead of profanity, and smiled like a painting of a queen.
The nobles loved her.
The commoners didn't.
They remembered the woman who'd fought in the arena. Who'd broken a prince's nose. Who'd spoken to them like equals instead of subjects. This new Lady King was beautiful, yes. Graceful, yes. But she was cold. Distant. Wrong.
Jinx knew first.
She cornered Iraia in the war room three days after the return. I watched through my prison, helpless, as my apprentice—my apprentice—stood before my body with a knife in her hand and murder in her eyes.
"You're not Wolf," Jinx said.
"I don't know what you mean," Iraia replied, my voice clipped and formal.
"Wolf calls me 'kid.' She slouches. She eats with her hands when no one's looking. She looks at the prince like he's the only thing in the room worth seeing." Jinx stepped closer, the knife steady. "You look at him like he's a duty. Like he's a prize. Like he's yours. And you're wrong."
"Put the knife down, child."
"I'm not a child. And you're not my queen."
Jinx threw the knife.
It wasn't aimed to kill. It was aimed to test. The blade buried itself in the wall an inch from my ear, and Iraia didn't flinch. She just stood there, my face a mask of royal disapproval.
Vienne would have caught it. Or dodged. Or thrown one back.
"See?" Jinx whispered. "She's gone. And you killed her."
Iraia's composure cracked. For a moment—just a moment—my face twisted with guilt. With shame. With the terrible loneliness of a woman who'd gotten everything she wanted and found it hollow.
"She's not dead," Iraia said quietly. "She's... resting. She's safe."
"You're lying."
"I saved her from herself. From burning out. From destroying us both." Iraia turned away, my shoulders sagging. "You don't understand. She was consuming me. Every day, a little more. Soon there would have been nothing left but her. And this body—my body—would have been gone forever."
"So you erased her instead."
"I preserved her." Iraia's voice rose, defensive, desperate. "She's still here. Deep inside. She can see. She can hear. She's just... not in control. It's better this way. For everyone. For the kingdom. For Cassian—"
"Cassian is drinking himself to death in the east tower," Jinx snapped.
"He hasn't eaten in two days. He speaks to no one. He just sits by the window and looks north, where he thinks she died."
She grabbed Iraia's arm—my arm—and squeezed hard.
"You didn't save anyone. You stole a life. And you're not good enough to live it."
She walked out.
Iraia stood alone. She looked at my hands—her hands now—and she trembled.
"Are you watching?" she asked the empty room. "Are you seeing what your absence does? The pain you cause? Maybe this is better. Maybe I'm the only one strong enough to bear this crown without breaking everyone around me."
You're breaking them anyway, I thought, my voice a whisper in the dark. Just differently.
She didn't hear me. Or if she did, she pretended not to.
___
On the seventh night, Kael came.
He found Iraia in the Voss family crypt—the same one where we'd found the vault, where I'd first held proof of the betrayal. She was kneeling before our father's tomb, my forehead pressed to the cold stone, my body wrapped in a cloak of black and crimson.
"Lyra's dead," Kael said.
Iraia turned. My face was streaked with tears—hers or mine, I couldn't tell anymore. "I know. I was there. I saw her fall."
"No. You didn't." Kael walked toward her, his steps heavy, his eyes red-rimmed.
"You were in a mountain monastery. The woman who watched Lyra die was Vienne. The woman who held her hand. The woman who told her I loved her."
He stopped in front of her, his fists clenched.
"You weren't there, Iraia. You were already gone."
"I remember it," Iraia whispered. "Through her. Through the memories we shared."
"It's not the same." Kael's voice broke.
"You were my sister. You raised me. You braided my hair and taught me to hold a sword. But the woman who pulled me out of the dark after you died? Who built an army from nothing? Who made me believe I could be more than a grieving boy?"
He shook his head. "That wasn't you. That was her. And I want her back."
Iraia stood. She reached for him—my arms open, my face pleading.
Kael stepped back.
"Don't," he said. "Don't touch me with her hands. Don't look at me with her eyes. You're not my sister anymore. You're just... a ghost wearing a ghost."
He turned and walked away.
Iraia collapsed.
She fell to the stone floor of the crypt, my body curling into a ball, sobs tearing out of my throat with a violence that shook the tomb.
She cried for Lyra. For Kael. For Cassian.
For the life she'd lost and the life she'd stolen and the terrible, hollow victory of being alive in a world that no longer wanted her.
And in the dark, I cried too.
Because I understood.
She wasn't evil. She wasn't a monster. She was just a woman who'd been dead too long, who'd woken up to find a stranger wearing her skin and living her life better than she ever could. Who'd reached for the only thing left to her and found it burned her hands.
I'm sorry, I whispered into the void. I'm sorry I took your place. I'm sorry I loved them. I'm sorry I didn't know how to let go.
But sorry wasn't enough.
And neither of us knew how to fix what we'd broken.
___
That night, Iraia went to Cassian.
She found him in the east tower, the room where we'd planned our war, where he'd kissed me in the dark and told me he loved me. He was sitting by the window, a bottle of brandy empty at his feet, his eyes fixed on the northern horizon.
"Cassian," she said softly.
He didn't turn. "Go away."