He lies on a bed of white sheets of silk. Asleep. He’s pale but stunning. The injury doesn’t take away an ounce of his beauty.
“He’s going to be okay,” Eden whispers behind me. “He’s strong—one of the strongest I’ve ever seen. That type of poison would kill any grown man within minutes, but he held on. I think he held on for you.”
My mind travels back to the night Barlowe was stabbed and how quickly the poison traveled through his veins—killing him immediately. I walk over to the bed and sit, pushing a strand of hair off his face.
Eden hovers only a second longer. “You can wash up in there if you’d like. There are fresh clothes as well,” she says, pointing toward the bathing chambers.
Maines walks up and says, “You should shower, Briar. The blood contrasts with the cleanliness of this bedroom.”
My gut twists, not wanting to leave Silas again, but I know they are right. I’m a mess. The smell and blood will wash away, but the bruises that lie beneath will remain, forever imprinted on my body, and I’ll accept these scars as reminders.
“I’ll stay with him. Oak and I aren’t leaving anytime soon.” Maines smiles, ushering Oak closer as he sits in a chair against the large bay window.
Heading into the room, I look in the mirror. My braid is still intact but matted toward the end—a thick layer of mud and blood weave into my hair. Blood splatters across my face—I look utterly horrifying. As if magic lives in the walls here, the bath is already filled with steaming water as my clothes hit the floor with a heavy thud, and I step inside. The warm water stings my cuts as I hiss through my teeth at the pain.
Silas is alright. Relax, Briar.
I tip my head back, resting it on the back of the tub. I close my eyes only for a moment. The silence is deafening, although I hear hushed voices behind the closed door. Maines and Oak are right outside with Silas.
Ifling open my eyes and stand outside the castle gates—the kingdom burning around me. My heart pounds in my chest as I scan the wasteland before me. I look down at my feet,expecting to see Barlowe lying there as he has so many times before, but only the ashes of a burned body remain. I cringe and look over my shoulder, expecting Thatcher to be standing there, but I see no one. Figures stand before me, bloodied and motionless. For the first time, I can see their faces—Maines, Oak, and Silas—standing unmoving with eyes wide, the last survivors of a horrific battle that has just ended. I try to speak, but the voice I hear is not my own.
A voice booms out, "You all will follow me or be against me."
I realize I'm not the one speaking—it’s Kalix. The friends before me widen their stances, entirely still, as if refusing to leave—even though I am no longer myself. Trapped in my mind, I am a prisoner to the Great Wiitch, who now rules my body. Black magic shoots from my hands in their direction, and they all jump out of the way. Oak covers Maines completely with his body to shield her from any blows. Silas spins, remaining on his feet, his magic bubbling out, ready to strike Kalix and me.
I realize Silas isn’t looking at me but at something behind me. Slowly, my body turns, and another figure steps onto the battlefield through the smoke rising from the west. Dark magic emits from its body, but it isn't shadows leaking from this unholy presence—it's light. A Lumor Wielder makes its presence known. I hear my name called by Silas, but I don’t turn, as if my body is stopping me from running to him—keeping us apart.
Through the mist and smoke, the figure comes into view as Rohhit steps forward, lightning radiating from his body. I try to scream but it’s muffled by the entity in control, which at this moment, isn't experiencing fear. Hatred flows through me, mixing with the terror, leaving a coppery taste in my mouth. Kalix moves closer within my body as if ready to fight. That’s when it hits me—this isn’t Rohhit Harte, the Prince of Eddris before me. It’s Carobon, the Great Lumor Wiitch, himself.
My head dips below the warm water as I snap back into my body in the House of Hedro. I scream, bubbles breaking the surface above me like boiling water.
Rohhit!
I quickly emerge from the water and dress in the clothes Eden provided—a white billowy dress that flows around my ankles, large enough to nearly slip off my shoulders. I roll my eyes, now understanding that this is clothing given to patients, designed for easy access for testing and healing. I re-braid my black hair, still dripping wet from the bath, but at least it’s clean. I open the door and step back into the room with the others. As I halt, Silas is awake and smiling, propped up in bed with bandages peeking through his white shirt.
Maines, Oak, and Silas talk as if they've known each other for a lifetime. My true friends and family are finally together, and at this moment, they are safe. Maines sits in Oak’s lap, her arms tightly wrapped around his neck in a nearby chair, giving Silas room to stretch out on the small bed if needed. My heart stops at the sight of him, his beautiful green eyes now staring back. He tries to sit up higher, only to fall back onto the bed with a groan.
"Nastronde, you will rip your stitches if you do that again!" Maines snaps.
I rush over to him, cupping his face. "Thank Gods you are okay." I press my lips against his forehead, inhaling deeply as I savor his familiar scent.
His eyes pierce my heart as he replies hoarsely, "Hi, Princess."
Oak clears his throat from the corner; I glance at Maines, concerned about his leg.
She understands my look. "I healed his leg. Luckily, it was a clean break! Once we arrived here, it didn’t take long."
Oak grins, wiggling his leg for proof. "We have a few things to catch you up on since you’ve been out, Prince. For starters, you’re now speaking with the Queen of Daramveer."
I slowly shift my eyes back to Silas, his mouth slowly parts. "Queen? Your father? What the hell happened?"
Oak cuts in again, "Well, another thing we should mention first is that Kalix is here as well." Silas springs up at the name, his white shirt slowly turning red from the stitches slicing open.
"Shit! You senseless man! Lay down!" Maines curses, rushing to him, forcing him to lay back down.
He looks me up and down. "It’s you. I can feel it. The Great Wiitch has been inside you all along. Those changes were all from your magic—it was her fueling your rage, your anger. Her eyes showed through when they turned black, didn’t they?"
Maines begins to work once more on his chest, slowly stitching up the wound. "Stay still," she snaps.
