Page 106 of The Crown of a Fallen Queen
“Why bother, eh? I’m never enough. No matter how hard I fight, no one thinks I’m worth their trust. Or their time. And especially not their love.”
The words fall out of me, bitter and cold. I didn’t mean to say them aloud, but Percy doesn’t flinch.
“You fight the Alarics and the Ethans of the world because you don’t want to become like them,” he says softly. “Empty souls, content only when they’re stealing from others.” He presses both hands to the singed cut splitting my chest in two and heals it, one inch at a time.
“Cruel kings always end up on top,” I choke.
“Then it’s up to you to take away their power—and make them small.”
“What if I can’t?”
“You must.” He moves to heal my arms next. “I’ll make it so they don’t immediately realize what I’ve done.”
I watch him survey my wounds. He heals the deep bruises and lacerations, but leaves the superficial abrasions—and their layers of blood and grime—intact.
“You used to hate me. What changed?”
Percy sucks his bottom lip inside his mouth, remaining silent for a while before he finally says, “Devi’s heart is a dark place most of the time. Full of regret. A lust for revenge. A desire for self-destruction. It’s been brighter since you came around. She thinks your mother destroyed her ability to love. She refuses to see what I see: that a broken heart loves just as fiercely, if not more. Scars only make us wiser in choosing whom we love.”
I roll to a sitting position, my ribcage no longer burning, each new breath coming in easier. “You heard her: she’s marrying Alaric, not me.”
“It’s the lyranthium fucking with both of your heads. Devi needs you to fight for her now, when she’s done everything in her power to push you away. The dress?—”
The main door of the prison block whines on its hinges, and my eyes widen. “Hide. Quick.”
Percy takes refuge behind the chamber pot, and I turn to the entrance.
It’s not Alaric, but Brel. She’s hauling a bushel of clothes in her hands, two of her subordinates following behind her. “We brought you an evening jacket and some decent pants. For the wedding,” she explains.
I bark out a laugh. “You’re too kind.”
I pretend to need help getting to my feet, Brel and her helpers buzzing around me until I’m dressed. I let them work, wincingand groaning at the appropriate times, hiding the fact that I’m well enough to do this on my own. The pain’s still there, but it’s bearable now.
Percy’s a magician. He healed everything but the outer shell. As long as Alaric thinks I’m a walking bruise, I hold the advantage.
Percy’s right about the dress. How did I miss it? I’ve been blinded by my own fears.
Even though I’ve built up a tolerance to lyranthium during my years here, the walls of the cell are affecting me gravely. If Devi’s dress was forged from pure lyranthium—refined, not alloyed—that would explain the symptoms. Even a small amount, worn so close to the skin, could’ve overwhelmed her.
Wind cutsacross the open wall of the arena, carrying the scent of salt, brine, and anticipation. The constant roar of the sea below matches the pounding in my skull.
The seats are already filled. The High Fae from Lightning Point sit out front in private booths, acting stern and serious in the face of a wedding they didn’t expect. Behind them, the common folk of Deiltine flood the bleachers. Mainly the men working on the Aeolians and in the factories.
They came for a show.
For the disturbing spectacle of a traditional Storm wedding.
To witness the moment the woman I’ve fallen for is claimed by another man.
I search the arena, but Devi isn’t here. Before I forfeit my life for a woman who might never love me back, I need to see her.
Brel ushers me forward, toward the edge of the arena where the stone underfoot is slick with rain, and orders me to wait there. She flies ahead to meet her king near the altar.
The Rayne’s green and black sigils snap in the storm.
The ground is marked with three concentric semicircles with the altar at their center. The innermost ring is meant for the bride and groom. The second is for the kindreds. The third encompasses the spectators.
I wish it would all crumble to ash.
