Page 45 of Crown of Betrayal and Blood

I pet her hair, remembering again all the fevers, colds, and sniffles we had where our mother would do the same for us.

Alannah waves over a maid I hadn’t noticed standing in the corner. “What is all the commotion in the hallway about?”

“It’s okay. They’re looking for whoever did that to Mother. We don’t mind the noise.” A sob wells up in my throat that I cannot contain.

Alannah has a conversation with the maid I don’t comprehend as despair overwhelms me. The noise from outside grows louder for a moment as someone opens the door to leave the room.

“Cry it all out, child. It’s okay.” Alannah wraps a frail arm around my shoulders.

I bury my face into the softness of the older woman’s gown, tears soaking the fabric as the investigation’s clamor rages on.

Duchess Breann enters, ushering in a young man carrying a flute. The duchess doesn’t say a word or offer any introductions, merely gestures to a seat by the window.

With a nod, the man settles where directed and lifts the instrument to his lips. A cascade of notes spills forth, each one a delicate barrier against the harsh sounds of the world outside. His music, so soft and soothing, creates a temporary sanctuary, shielding us from the chaos outside. Granting us a sliver of peace in order to grieve.

As the tribute plays, I can’t help but think of my friend Olive, incinerated into ash by a dragon at our flight trial. I wonder if her family recovered any of her body or if they were left with no physical pieces of her to mourn. Did she receive a vigil like this one? Has her parents’ pain diminished at all yet, or do they still weep every day over her senseless loss?

I press a hand over the aching part of my chest. Olive’s death was my fault. Mine. And while my actions didn’t directly lead to my mother’s death, I can’t help but feel responsible for this too. If not for me, Lynnea Axton would never have set foot in Tirene. She’d be safely tucked away in our castle and out of harm’s way.

Leesa’s sobs are muffled by the ethereal tune, but each shudder of her body stabs another knife into my heart. The dowager queen, Rhiann, and Duchess Breann remain with us, pillars of support in a crumbling reality. Their embrace is a steadfast anchor as the sun dips below the horizon and paints the sky with the colors of a bruise.

Mother would have loved to have these women as friends.

A sudden epiphany strikes me, tearing my heart to shreds.

My mother had to give up the lifestyle she was accustomed to in order to keep me safe. Growing up, I felt like the castle was my prison, and she was my warden. Now, when it is too late to tell her, I understand she was the prisoner, and I was the warden.

Mother still threw parties, but she didn’t go out nearly as often as she would have liked. She stayed at home to keep me safe. To protect me.

Not only did she not complain, but she listened to my complaints. My anger. My rejection of the safety she paid for with her husband’s life and the loss of all close relationships.

And I blamed her for it. I yelled at her. Accused her of trying to destroy my life and lying to me when all she ever did was try to protect me from King Xenon and the people who’d tried to use me.

Guilt merges with grief, and hot tears stream down my face. When she first arrived in Tirene, I held a grudge over how she hid my true identity from me and kept me sequestered as a child for my own safety. I wasted so much time when I should have forgiven her and treated every moment as precious.

Now she’s gone, and I can’t reclaim those wasted moments. “I was so mad at her when she showed up here. For days, I refused to talk to her. We reconciled, but what if she thought I didn’t love her anymore once I discovered the truth?”

“Shh,” Alannah soothes. “She knew, I promise.”

“All mothers know,” Duchess Breann assures as she sits on my other side by Leesa. “All children say things they don’t mean. But we always know those words are said out of ignorance and are not to be believed.”

I sniffle. “It’s not fucking fair. We’d only just started to repair our relationship.”

If my language bothers the duchess, she gives no indication. “She knew your heart, Lark. Of that, I have no doubt.”

Breann holds my hand as tightly as Leesa is holding my waist. I’m so twisted up, I can barely breathe, but I also don’t want to move.

“When Sterling was a boy, nightmares would often steal his sleep. I would tell him to whisper his fears to the goddess of night, to ask for dreams filled only with sweetness.” Alannah’s eyes cloud with memories. “If that didn’t work, I’d read him a story. Perhaps a story might ease your mind? Just as it did for him.”

Her offer is kind yet far from what could mend the fissure in my soul. I don’t even have the strength to answer because I’m shrouded with regret.

Still, there’s a tickle of something—a fragment of swift, elusive thought—dancing just out of reach in my mind. But the relentless tide of grief sweeps all else away.

And then, as shadows claim the room, Alannah’s voice, barely above the lull of the flute, weaves a prayer. She beseeches Nyc, goddess of night, and her daughter Mar, goddess of dreams and visions. She asks for solace in the darkness, for dreams untainted by the day’s horrors. The simple act—a prayer from Sterling’s mother—touches something deep within me, a spark amid the consuming emptiness.

“Thank you.” The haunting melody carries my words into the encroaching night.

My muscles tense against unexpected motion, my consciousness surfacing from a deep, dreamless void. I’m being carried, Sterling’s sure arms tight around me. The world blurs at the edges, like a painting smeared by tears and sorrow.

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