Chapter 59
Kyor grips my hand tightly as we walk out of the throne room together, but when we reach the entrance to the palace, he pulls me to a stop, leaning in to kiss me softly.
‘You’ve got this, Thorn.’
An involuntary grin rises to my lips. ‘Already told myself the same thing, actually.’
‘There she is,’ he murmurs. ‘My warrior. I’ll see you when it’s done,’ he says, then kisses me again, this time a little harder, before he releases me entirely.
To the sacred lands, I tell Fen as I mount him.
Of course. This will be the time you succeed. I feel it. He pauses. How bad is it, Little Raven? he asks. The army of Rottings – how bad is it?
A couple made it to the outskirts of Galreck, the very edge of the slums, but people were trying to hold them back. Most of them were still stumbling out of the forest.
I can’t help but picture it again, the slow shambling walk of the already dead.
Little Raven, I don’t want to cause you any more stress, but have you thought about what happens when they have that dagger? They want all three, and the Morathkians did not succeed here…
His voice fades, the silence heavier than any words could be.
He’s right. Mila will not give up.
Once the Rottings have what she wants from Galreck, she’s likely to send them to me. To Isthyr.
I picture Linnea and Orla. The children making chandeliers and snow flurries in the streets and riding on the dire wolves’ backs as they braid their fur. I picture Ylva and her books and flails. Tove and the librarians. Astrid, who stood beside me against a general she had known all her life.
They’re why I need to get the fuck out of Isthyr. I refuse to put the people here at risk.
Silence remains between our minds as we reach the river, but rather than suggesting Fen heads towards Magnus’s bridge, I summon my ice power and push it out in a cascade in front of us.
If ever I’ve needed the Gods’ favour, it’s now.
The crystal-clear structure forms, spanning bank to bank, not a single crack in the ice.
It looks good. Solid. And Fen clearly agrees, because although he braces himself, he heads towards the bridge of my own creation without hesitation.
With faith and bravery that makes my throat thicken with emotion, he launches himself onto the bridge, crossing it in three strides. When he reaches the other side, a gasp of relief rattles from him.
Thank you, I murmur.
I believe in you, he replies. We all do. Even the Gods, it seems.
In mere minutes, he draws to a stop outside the cave.
I will be here waiting for you when you have completed this task, Little Raven. The certainty in his tone warms me, and I appreciate that he doesn’t entertain, even for a moment, the possibility that I might fail yet again.
Thank you.
I wish I had half his certainty, but confidence or not, I am a survivor, and if my past has only shown me one thing, it’s that I always do what it takes to keep the ones I love safe.
Today, completing the Veil is what it takes.
I thrust my shoulders back, mutter prayers to Oel and Etta, and prepare myself.
I place the dagger next to Fen’s feet, and though I long to hesitate, I don’t let myself stall.
I can’t.
I need to help the people in Galreck.
One of us.
It strikes deep within me, that phrase chanted at me by the slum dwellers in Wrohelm, but it applies no less to those living in the slums of Galreck. Deprivation and desperation need no geography to define them.
For all of them, more than myself, I must complete the Veil. There’s no time for self-indulgent deep breathing.
I can do this. I will do this.
At the bottom of the stairs, the Veil burns brighter than ever.
With my heart pounding, I take a moment to look at it in a way I’ve never done before.
Not since my first visit, at least. Every other time I’ve been here, I’ve been so focused on getting through it, completing it, that I haven’t taken time to observe its magnificence.
With a single deep breath, I allow my eyes to take in the dancing oranges and reds of the flame where my hopes rest.
This is the last time I’m going to stand here, one way or another.
With my pulse steady, I close my eyes and step through the waiting door into the queen’s chamber.
My eyes immediately fall to Kyor, to the scared little boy who grips his mother’s hand and tries to hide the tears shining in his eyes.
‘Give yourself some distance, Rose,’ I say to myself, imitating Benny’s voice the best I can. And he’s right. If I don’t, then I’m not doing anything different from all the other times I’ve tried to do this. All the other times I’ve failed.
This time must be different. Failure is not an option.
I step back to the furthest corner of the room and force myself to think, not just about this last vision, but all the others that came before.
My mother’s relationship with Dinah is key somehow. My mother and the priestess, who spoke behind closed doors.
Closed doors only mean one thing.
‘My mother and Dinah had secrets,’ I say aloud. ‘That’s what you wanted me to learn. Secrets from my father. From me. They wouldn’t need to talk behind closed doors were that not the case.’
Dinah knew about my mother’s heritage, but she said my mother had used the gladden root to remove that from her mind, so that can’t be what they were discussing. No, there must be different secrets between them.
Different secrets that lead to the queen’s chamber.
And my mother? She didn’t want me there that night, but Dinah made her bring me. Dinah was clearly pulling the strings, but it’s my mother I’ve followed throughout this entire journey. Not me. Not Dinah. My mother. She’s the only one who has been there in every scene.
Which means she is where my attention needs to lie. Not the queen. Not the prince. Not my younger self.
So I turn to look at her, taking in everything about the woman who birthed me.
Her dark hair in a braided bun, her green eyes.
The way her hands tremble, just a little.
Could she be nervous? Dealing with a queen, any normal person would be.
But my mother? Healing was always her balm, easing another’s discomfort a way to steady herself.
Surely the desperate state of the queen’s labour can’t yet be known to her? So why is she already nervous?
‘The blood,’ Kyor says a little while later. His voice is weak, though I can hear how hard he tries to sound strong. ‘Is there meant to be that much blood?’
‘Don’t worry,’ my mother soothes, ‘I’m going to do everything I can to stop it.’
I fight the instinct to look at him and keep my eyes on my mother.
She moves her right hand down towards the queen’s abdomen, holding it there, and whether it’s merely optimistic thinking or not, I’m sure the blood slows.
‘Mother—’ Young me tries to speak, but just like every other time, my mother stretches out a hand to silence me.
‘It’s okay, Rose. It’s okay.’ My mother’s words to me are the same as always, and the same beads of sweat weave down her skin as the colour drains from her cheeks with all the magic she’s pouring into the queen.
‘You have to save the baby, Reeva. Promise you’ll save the baby,’ the queen rasps.
‘It’s going to be fine. It’s going to be fine. You and your baby are both going to be fine.’
I’m too far away to see the fear in my mother’s eyes, even though I know it’s there from previous trips to the Veil, but there’s something else too.
Standing at this distance has given me a clearer view of the manner in which my mother’s hands are working, and there’s something about her posture that I’ve never noticed before.
The way her shoulders shift ever so slightly … it reminds me of Brida when Kyor and I spoke to her earlier. With Brida, it showed her determination to do the right thing, regardless of her mother’s treason. Is that what my mother’s posture is showing? Determination?
Of course she was determined to save the queen.
As I stand there, listening to the wheezing breaths of Kyor’s mother growing fainter and fainter, my gaze shifts to my mother’s left hand.
I’ve never noticed before the way it doesn’t stay above the abdomen as I’d assumed, but is instead close to her side, as if she’s keeping it hidden from view as it moves.
I realise suddenly that she’s using two forms of magic. Just like I did when I stopped the ice wall from collapsing on the ledge. One is being used to control the blood loss – I’m certain of it. But what of the other?
My eyes flicker to the queen, to the way her breath hitches… No, not hitches. Gasps. She is gasping, struggling to get any breath in at all. I see her eyes widen, panic overwhelming her.
She can’t breathe.
My Gods, she can’t breathe. Blood loss doesn’t make people suffocate, does it? No, I know it doesn’t. Not like this. But that’s what’s happening.
The queen is suffocating.
My hand flies to my chest as I recall that same sensation now turning the queen’s lips blue.
I felt it myself when Brida tested her powers against me and then again when her mother did the same. And I saw that same fear in Jonas’s eyes, too, when I lost control of my magic, ripping the breath from him while he clawed at his throat.
I feel sick.
I look at my mother as the queen struggles to breathe.
Gods.
I know what this means.
I step back, tears welling in my eyes as I shake my head, wishing I could refuse to believe what I’ve seen, what I’ve learned.
But as I return to the Veil’s cave, I know that’s not possible. For the first time, the flame is burning gold.
The Veil is complete.
I know what I needed to learn, and it may yet destroy me.
I slide to my knees, tears pouring down my cheeks as I gulp in huge breaths that the queen wasn’t able to draw.
I hold my hands before my face and watch the black poison retreat from my skin.
It may be gone, but its shadow stretches far beyond flesh, creeping insidiously through my mind, old memories and forgotten moments brought to the surface, rewriting the story of who I thought I was with every passing breath.
The lesson the Veil needed to teach me was that I was wrong all these years. Utterly wrong.
My mother was the Queenkiller. Not in the way people thought, not by negligence or simple error. No, it is far worse than that. For reasons I cannot even begin to comprehend, she and Dinah conspired to kill Kyor’s mother.
That is the truth the Veil has shown me. That is what I had to learn.
I truly am the daughter of the Queenkiller.