“To the unexpected.” Sorscha clinks her coupe against Mar’s. “And to the death of freedom.”
She doesn’t wait for a response before tossing back the drink in one go. Without a beat in between, she pours herself another. An awkward silence settles.
And just like that, this is back to being the most uncomfortable bachelorette party in the history of the world.
“You might want to ease up on that, Sorsch. Tomorrow is going to be an early day.”
“I’m perfectly fine, thank you,” she says to Mar, moving to lean against the windowsill.
She’s lost weight since we got back to Aegar. She’s still beautiful in the extreme, only now it’s a haunted sort of beauty.
“What’s the matter, Sorscha? Getting cold feet?” Cece sips her drink.
“I’m not certain they were ever warm.”
“You could do worse.” Cece twists a lock of golden hair around her finger. “He’s a far cry from unattractive. A bit rough around the edges, but that’s nothing that can’t be fixed.”
“That is not the issue.”
“Then what is?”
“This is wrong.” Sorscha turns to us, deadly serious. “This is a mistake…”
“It shouldn’t feel like that.” For once, Cece actually sounds sincere.
“Don’t you think I know that?” Sorscha comes as close to snapping as she physically can, then resumes staring off into the night.
I’m almost afraid to move closer. “Sorscha? You alright?”
Her head slowly swivels back to us. “Let’s go out. I need some air.”
The night is void of stars as we make our way to the stables in silence, the moon looking full and fat as if she gobbled them up and absorbed all of their eerie light. We dress a few horses and head toward the flowered path that winds the gardens.
A loud bray sounds from behind me. I twist around in the saddle as Sorscha snaps her reins and speeds off into the dark woods.
“Sorscha!”
“What is she doing?” Mar hisses, turning her horse. “She knows these woods aren’t safe at night.”
“Come on.”
We race after her, splitting off to search. Sorscha’s name echoes through the tangled trees, but no response comes. I will my pounding heart to quiet, straining to hear or see her through the shadows.
This was a terrible idea—she’d had so much to drink and?—
A flash of pink snags my attention. I yank my horse to a stop.
She stands at the bottom of a hill, before a glassy black pool streaked with silver moonlight. Despite the cold, she drops her cloak, slips out of her shoes, and walks out into the lake.
“Sorscha!”
She doesn’t turn. She keeps drifting forward, the skirt of her gown dragging behind her, fanning out over the surface like a lace film. The water creeps higher, nearing her waist.
I hop off the horse and scamper down the hill.
But not before Sorscha goes under, disappearing into the black stillness. I hold my breath for her to emerge, but she doesn’t. Panic pricks at my skin.
“Sorscha?” I shout again. “Fuck.”
