She’s ten paces ahead of me the entire journey through the forest. As I watch her silhouette bob through trees and step over stones and felled logs, I can’t help but wonder if my sister is a person I know anymore.
It once felt as if our very souls were intertwined, as if we were two halves of a whole. I couldn’t conceive of a time when it would feel like I do not know her, but in this moment, she is a stranger to me.
The Lydia I knew in London, who rescued abandoned kittens from the carriage house and fed them by hand until they were strong enough to open their eyes, never could have done what this Lydia just did.
I’m still crying by the time we reach the edge of the trees. Bram, Emmett, Rhion, and a few other members of the faerie aristocracy are having a party. A band plays a cheery tune as they lounge on overstuffed pillows on the ground, a buffet laid out on a low table in front of them.
Lydia dumps the baby unicorn unceremoniously at Bram’s feet. “Here,” she says flatly.
Bram claps his hands with glee. “Well done, you!”
Emmett’s handsome face goes pale as he looks between us—at Lydia’s gown now stained and sticking to her body with silver blood and my eyes rimmed with red.
Without saying a word to anyone, I climb miserably back into the transport carriage, sit down on the hard wooden bench, close my eyes, and tip my head against the wall.
“Come, Ivy. We’re having a party!” Bram exclaims.
“I’d like to go home now.” I wish I knew what I meant by the wordhome. Our town house in Belgrave Square, my childhood country estate in Oakham, Kensington Palace, and One Royal Crescent all feel as if they belonged to a different person.
For the first time, it hits me that I might never see England again.
I sit for a few hours, my mind far away from my body while Bram and his courtiers finish their merriment. I don’t look outside to see if Lydia is on his arm. I don’t know if I could stand it. The worst part is, I do not judge her for doing what it takes to survive. I am just afraid of the person it has made her.
Chapter Thirteen
When we return to the castle I head straight for my room and slam the door. There’s a soft knock sometime later, and I open the door a crack, longing to see Emmett, but it’s just Eloree with a tray of food. I have no patience for her after the trick with the corset this morning.
I’m sure it was Bram’s doing, but she was party to it.
“Will you go to the revel, miss?” Eloree asks. “I can dress your hair.”
“No, thank you,” I say emphatically.
I instruct her to leave the tray, and then I break every rule of every fairy tale I’ve ever read, and eat ravenously. The food is richer with flavor than any I’ve ever had and I shovel it into my mouth so quickly I fear I’m going to make myself sick, but it’s been so long since I’ve eaten and this is the only thing that’s come close to soothing the ache inside of me.
Once I’m finished, I dress in a black gown made of a gauzy material, one of the simplest in my wardrobe, and slip down the main staircase. I’m underdressed among the revelers who race across the hall, the dark wine in their goblets sloshing over their sleeves andonto the floor. They pay me no mind as I take the stairs to the lowest level, where the earth is damp and dark.
As I descend farther into the castle, I hear the rhythmic drip of water and the low snore of a guard, asleep in a tipped-back chair at the base of the stairs. I snatch his ring of keys from its hook on the wall, careful not to let the heavy metal clang together.
On tiptoes, I sneak past him and into the rabbit warren of the dungeons. The cells look as if they were dug out by hand. The walls are jagged, the ceilings too low for someone as tall as Emmett to stand completely upright.
I follow the serpentine halls with only a few mounted torches to light my way.
“Marion?” I hiss. “Faith?”
“Ivy?” It’s a weak voice in the darkness, but unmistakably my name.
“Marion!” I exclaim.
I turn the corner and see the two of them piled into a single cell, their familiar faces coated with tear-streaked grime. Their dresses are torn and splotchy with dried blood. They’re both leaning against the back wall, Marion with her chin propped up in her hands, Faith tending to her swollen eye.
“I’m so sorry.” I sink to my knees in front of the bars and slide a key into the lock. It doesn’t fit, so I try the next.
Faith clambers toward me and gestures. “There—try the thinnest one.” There’s a little resistance as I slide the key in, but I press harder. The lock slides open with athunkand I swing the door open.
“I’m sorry,” I say again, pulling Marion into a tight hug. She looks like she needs it the most. Faith’s eyes gleam with a murderousrage. Hugging her would be like trying to hug a porcupine. I touch her elbow instead. “I’m going to kill him,” she says. I don’t know if she means Bram or Rhion, but I nod in agreement.
“Let’s go.” I gesture down the dark hallway, but Marion hesitates.
