Everything was too bright—too much of the same. Nothing had changed in the weeks she was gone, down to the paintings on the walls and the warmth that enveloped the halls. But somehow, it felt different, more empty and too shiny.
Lyria gave her hand a squeeze. “I’ll wait outside while you visit,” she whispered.
Even with Evelina’s emotions threatening to bring her to her knees, she didn’t miss the way Lyria spoke. There was something broken and hollow in the way she said it, so much so that Evelina quickened her step, eager to prove that her mother was just as she’d left her. That everyone was wrong, and when she opened the bedroom door, her mother would be fine.
They stopped in front of her door and Lyria hesitated. She hugged Evelina swiftly. “Evie, you should prepare yourself.”
Evelina’s focus blurred, her mind turning fuzzy. She didn’t know what to do. She reached for the handle, her hand frozen and unable to move once she touched it. Lyria placed her hand over Evelina’s and pushed the door open with her, bringing her face-to-face with a pain she wasn’t certain she could deal with right now.
“I’ll be here if you need me.” Lyria’s voice wobbled. She left Evelina in the doorway, holding herself together much better than Evelina would have guessed. Evelina had always felt like she was an older sister to Lyria, but in this moment, Lyria was being strong for her in a way only older sisters could.
She took a deep breath and tentatively stepped into the dimly lit room. A few candles flickered on the walls, but the shades were drawn and Evelina could hardly see her mother in the bed. She crossed the room, passing the chair she used to sprawl out on and complain to her mother about Carwyn getting on her nerves. On her left, she passed the small wooden vanity with an intricately carved frame that she would sit at while her mother brushed her hair.
It wasn’t until she got to the foot of the bed that her resolve began to falter once more. The blankets were perfectly fluffed, not a wrinkle in sight. Her mother’s eyes were closed, her mouth relaxed as she slept. She looked peaceful—not exactly the image Evelina had in her mind when Lyria told her to prepare herself.
Evelina turned, not wanting to wake her.
“Evelina, darling, is that you?” Her mother’s voice was hoarse, crackling and ending on a cough.
Evelina slowly rotated to face her mother, too scared to move any closer than where she still stood at the foot of the bed. “Mother,” she said softly.
Her mother’s eyes were hardly open. The queen lifted her head off the pillow, only to let it fall back as if she didn’t have the strength to hold it up. “Come closer,” she rasped. “I need to know it’s really you.”
Evelina started to shake, willing her feet to move but unable to make them comply. “It’s me, Mother.”
Queen Embry held out a hand to Evelina, her fingers shaking as she reached for her. Finally, Evelina forced herself forward. She sat at her mother’s side on the edge of the bed. Her mother lifted both of her hands, cupping her cheeks.
Evelina leaned forward so her mother didn’t have to reach as far. She felt her face, tracing her nose and her ears. Her eyes were fixed slightly left of Evelina, over her shoulder.
“Ah,” she whispered with a smile. “There’s my girl.”
Her arms dropped back by her side and Evelina immediately grabbed one of them. She studied her mother’s face, still notingthe way her gaze didn’t focus directly on her. Dread slithered into her stomach as she realized what was happening.
“You can’t see me?” Evelina breathed.
Her mother’s smile faded. “One does not always see with their eyes.”
Evelina shook her head, the frustration and anger of the past few days starting to claw at her chest. She’d felt hollow since the cavern, like a piece of her died there. But it was hitting her now—the unfairness of it all. Of seeing the strongest woman she had ever known fading before her eyes.
“Carwyn said you were sick.” Anger stirred in her chest, an accusation sprouting from misdirected anger. “You’re the queen. You can’t besick.”
Queen Embry let out a long sigh, the sound crackling like she had water in her lungs. “The land is weak, Evelina.”
The image of the browning leaves and drooping trees flashed into her mind. She didn’t want to believe—couldn’tbelieve it.
“It can’t be,” she gasped. “There has to be a way to heal you before it’s too late.”
She jumped up, prepared to run to the infirmary and bury herself in mixing as many tonics as she could think of. But her mother squeezed her hand—a small twitch of her fingers.
“The crown I wear is heavy. My body will not weather it for much longer.” Acceptance filled her voice. “Darkness has invaded too much of our world. The land needs a stronger ruler to bear the weight of this crown.”
“Then abdicate,” Evelina demanded. “Before it kills you.”
Her mother coughed, the sound wet and raspy. “It’s too late for that. If I abdicated now, I wouldn’t survive it anyway. This way I can hold the darkness off a little longer…and sort my affairs.”
Evelina stared at her mother in horror, the reality that there was nothing to be done sinking in. Her mother was preparing for her death, not for a solution—not for salvation.
“Immortality is not all it’s made out to be, my dear,” shewhispered. “I will not grieve an early return to my true home in Caelum.”
