“You’ve ruined everything!” Bram is red in the face, his hands balled into fists at his sides.
Ivy and I just stare at him. Maybe if we let him burn out his temper tantrum, we can all go home. But I know it’s a foolish thought. It won’t be that easy with Bram.
We’ve committed the most unforgivable sin; we’ve humiliated him by refusing to play his game.
“You want to be clever about it? Fine. No more games! Will that make you happy?”
He extends his ring-clad finger and points to Ivy, then me, then back to Ivy, then me, where it comes to rest. I look up at this boy who I loved, who Ilove. Fury blazes in his eyes and before I have the chance to gasp or beg, or even cry out in surprise, he levitates Ferrinus and sends it flying across the arena, directly into my heart.
My breastbone cracks, and then I feel nothing at all.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I scream as Lydia’s body hits the ground.
My legs move before I’m fully conscious of what I’m doing. I race for my sister and pull her into my lap. “Lydia, please,Lydia,” I sob, but her body is nothing but a limp husk. She’s not there anymore.
There is no death rattle, no fluttering eyelids, no last words on her lips.
Blood blooms around her like a great crimson flower.
Lydia was gone before she hit the ground.
My vision goes dark. The screams that pour from me are so animalistic, I’m not even certain it’s me making the noise.
The crowd is deadly silent, the only sound is my wailing, and the crunching of Bram’s boots in the gravel.
He’s risen from his throne and hopped over the railing of his observation box into the arena.
His head blocks out the sun and he tuts with pity.
He nudges Lydia’s limp foot with the toe of his boot. “What a mess you’ve made of things, Ivy. Look at what you’ve done.”
My pain is so much worse than a broken hand: it’s everywhere, all-consuming. I’m burning and breaking and numb all at once.
I tense, ready to spring up at him and claw his eyes out. I don’t even care if it won’t kill him; I need to see him bleed, make him pay.
My good hand is clenched, and I’m about to throw myself at him when the ground begins to shake, pitching me backward. Bram stumbles but remains on his feet.
Over his shoulder, still bound, in the stands, Rhion has spit out his gag and is screaming, but the noise is swallowed by a mighty groan as the land shudders from deep within its core, like it’s a living thing. Then comes the soft sound of small rocks falling, skittering over the smooth marble, and the stands begin to crumble. The crowd shrieks as they run, frantically searching for safety and solid ground. Rhion covers Marion and Faith with his own body.
I can’t see Bram.
The gravel of the arena shakes too, and then a crack rings out and the ground splits right down the middle.
Water pours in from either end, until it creates a roaring stream that bisects the coliseum. The ground ripples once more, and trees shoot from the ground up into the sky with another deafening crack. Vines snake around their growing roots, covering the gravel with tangled foliage.
Lightning pierces the sky as dark clouds roll in, dimming the daylight in a matter of seconds. They open up and sheets of torrential rain begin to fall, pooling on the ground and soaking me to the bone.
All around are the screams of people fleeing, but I’m barely paying attention. It crosses my mind that perhaps I’m dead too. A part of me wishes I was. I would trade my life for Lydia’s without a thought.
I can’t see anyone through the wall of dense green leaves. SoI hold my sister, knowing these will be the last moments we have together, and pull her to my heaving chest while I sob. My tears run down my neck until they become indistinguishable with the rivulets of rain streaming over my skin.
A small gasp pierces through my trance and I look down, surprised to find Duddon. They’re dressed just as they were the last time I saw them, in their silver fish scales, and their tiny face is lined with concern.
They suck a finger into their mouth and remove it with apop. “More tears, my lady?” Their voice is wobbly with sadness and they approach me with trepidation and then run a tiny, sharp hand, heartbreaking in its gentleness, over Lydia’s soaked hair.
“The land is crying, too,” they say quietly.
