I wince at the hot pain. The throbbing in my skull competes with the new sensation in my hand. I mumble, “I could have done it myself.”
“You were shaking,” she supplies simply as she makes her own cut on her palm. Once she has her dagger sheathed beneath her skirts, she holds out a hand. “This is your last chance to change your mind, Lyra.”
Flicking a quick look between her hand, my own, and her eyes, I tense my jaw and step forward. Grasping her hand with the utmost determination.
I can’t help but let out a strangled cry as pain rips through me, far sharper than the blade had been. She shushes me and I bite down on my tongue.
What have you done?
My knees buckle under the pain. I’m curling into myself on the ground, still holding her hand. The pain in my head explodes into a flash of imagery. Overwhelming enough that it’s like trying to sip water from a white rapid river and nearly drowning.
A forest of creeping fog.
Blue roses scattered across a hill.
Someone’s warm hand holding mine.
A mirror shattering.
Aelia laughing at something I had said.
Standing in a building with the roof caved in as it rains.
Blood being scrubbed from a bed.
A man thrusting into me as he has me pinned up against a tree.
The gardens wilting and rotting.
A woman in a nightgown leaping off a balcony in thenight.
A river with two crosses.
“Lyra?” Marcella’s voice snaps me back into reality as she lets go of my hand. She’s crouched down before me. Brown eyes locked on mine, nose scrunched. “Did you just…”
I’m a panting mess, unable to get more than a word out. “What?”
Her eyes widen, lips drawing into a line. There’s a distant look in her gaze before she shakes her head and stands, offering to help me up.
I take her hand with my uncut one, standing on shaking legs. Blood is trickling down my arm, threatening to stain the white marble below. I walk to the bathroom, and she’s a few paces behind. When I’ve washed off my blood in the sink, I step back and allow her to do the same.
Like a thread is tied between my chest and the mirror, there’s a strong tug. Demanding my attention. Like someone’s watching us. I glance up. Nothing is there.
Nothing but our own reflections.
Marcella sighs after she shuts off the faucet and turns to me, leaning back against the vanity counter. “What did you see?”
I shake my head slowly, and she crosses her arms over her chest. “Lyra, there’s no other explanation for your eyes. I know you saw something. Don’t try and fool me. You were shown a river with two crosses?”
My mouth drops open. “How did you…?”
“You muttered it toward the end. Were they new visions, or have you had them before?”
“What are youtalkingabout? They were just…daydreams?” I laugh. “Little flashes of…random things that mean nothing. Just…imagination.” But her words settle into me. Knitting a truth into me that I quiet.
She cocks her head to the side with narrowed eyes. “Your eyes were white. Completely glazed over. The only people that happens to are Seers. What you’ve been experiencing is rare, but not unheard of. They aren’t daydreams—not even close. They’revisions. A peek into the future.”
I shake my head, not wanting to accept it. “No, no they can’t be?—”
