I hike up my skirts, kick off my sodden shoes, and begin to climb. It’s not far, only as high as a few rungs of a ladder, but I feel the heat of Emmett’s hand hovering behind me protectively.
I hoist myself up and Emmett follows. It’s immediately clear what he was referring to.
On the floor of the observation box is a tangle of bloodred lux flowers. They’ve grown in a near perfect circle, about three feet wide, exactly where Queen Mor was sitting next to her son.
“What is this?” I turn to Emmett.
“I’m not sure. In the chaos, none of us saw. When Bram—” Emmett can’t choke out the wordskilled Lydia.“The trees started growing, everything happened so fast. Faith snatched one of the guard’s swords and demanded he undo my chains or be run through. Once I was free, I began looking for Mor, terrified that she’d be looking for you, but all we found was this.” He gestures again to those strange flowers, swaying gently in the breeze.
From our higher vantage point, I can look out past the coliseum. We’re on a flat plain between the edge of the forest and the sea, near enough to the Isern Caves that I can see their silhouette in the misty distance. “She could have bolted,” I say.
Emmett shrugs. “She could have, but would she have not stayed to defend Bram?”
It’s true, but maybe she saw the writing on the wall.I’ve always been rather invested in my own self-preservationmay have been the truest thing she ever told me.
I stand on my tiptoes and strain to look over the edge of the coliseum. The fall would kill a human, but what do I know of immortals? But I make the decision in that moment not to let it consume me. I prod at the tangle of flowers with my toe. “Good riddance,” I say. If it is her, I hope she’s found the only peace she ever really wanted—a place where she can be with Bram.
Emmett helps me down from the ruins of the stands and we make our way across the arena to Lydia.
She’s standing now, supported by Rhion.
Her skin is so luminous it’s as if it’s emitting light, but her face is still a bit queasy.
“Mor?” she asks.
“Gone,” I answer without elaborating.
Lydia steps from the shadow of the trees into the light and her skin glimmers slightly. She clutches the place in her chest where the knife drove through and winces. “I don’t feel like myself,” she says.
“Shh,” I soothe her. Rhion and Emmett exchange a tense glance over Lydia’s head. “You’ve been through so much, you only need to rest.”
There are carriages waiting outside the gates of the crumbling coliseum, and the remaining King’s Guard drop to their knees the moment Lydia steps out into the clearing.
“Long live Queen Lydia!” they shout, then pull out their swords and lay them at her feet, her slippers still damp with her own blood. “We pledge our swords to you, Your Majesty.”
Lydia dips her chin regally and they part for her like the tides.
In the jostle of the crowd, we end up in separate carriages on our way back to the castle, so I have no way of speaking to her.
Emmett peers at me, worried, as the carriage starts to move. Across the bench, Faith and Marion look equally concerned.
It’s only once I’m alone with them that I allow myself to shatter.
Chapter Thirty-One
Upon returning to the castle, Lydia retires to bed without speaking to a single one of us. That night, no revels rage in the castle, but from down in the valley below, flickering torches light a celebration among the faeries who live outside of court.
It’s past midnight and Emmett is sleeping soundly beside me, but I can’t settle. Every time I close my eyes I see Lydia falling to the ground, the knife stuck in the center of her chest, blood blooming around it.
On quiet feet, I pad out of bed and down the staircase to her room.
I knock softly and wait.
The door creaks open a minute later, revealing Lydia, in her robe with her hands covered in paint, a streak of white along her cheekbone.
“Can’t sleep either?” she asks, and opens the door wider.
I plop down on the edge of her bed and she returns to her painting in the corner, a field of flowers so dense, it’s nearly abstract in all its colors.
