It happened so quickly. I didn’t believe my own eyes, not until Emrys’s blood began to drip down his chest and he gasped. It was a sound to summon the spirit of death. A mortal blow. He slowly sank to his knees and I rushed to catch him, easing him to the floor.
“Where is my brother?” he rasped, clutching my hand. The aging glamour faded, leaving behind a young yet ancient face, marred in pain.
“I’m here,” my father replied. He knelt on the other side of Emrys, drawing his brother into his arms. “I was supposed to shield you this time, Em. You fooled me.”
You fooled me.
I dwelled on my conversation with Emrys from earlier that day. He had asked if my father was in danger. I had said no, but Emrys had seen through the countess. He must have convinced his brother to swap roles to keep him safe.
I looked up to see Lady Raven standing nearby with the crossbow in her hands. Her shock seemed to radiate from witnessing someone in the deathless court die. She trembled as Phelan yanked the weapon away from her.
“I could not let your life end like this,” Emrys whispered to Papa. A pallor was creeping over his skin. I watched his blood continue to flow down his chest and drip onto the floor. “You have so much . . . to live for, Ambrose.” He looked at me, and there was tenderness in his eyes.
I felt Imonie’s presence draw near, and when she spoke, her voice was soft, agonized.
“Let me hold him.”
I shifted away and let her take my place on the floor. My father eased Emrys into her arms and she held him close to her heart.
“Mam,” Emrys whispered.
“Let me hold you one last time, my quiet boy,” Imonie said with a smile, stroking the hair from his brow. “My scholar of dreams.”
I remembered Imonie’s story, her words like an echo returning to me after months. Her quiet boy would deceive her, acting as his wild brother to take his punishments. And the wild boy would act as his quiet twin, to avoid her wrath when he strayed too far.
I had assumed wrong.
I had thought my father was Imonie’s quiet boy. But all this time . . . it had been Emrys. The boy who had loved books and school and peaceful spaces, who had wept when my father tore the pages in his book. Who had let my father wear his robes to deceive and kill the duke. Who had taken the fall for my father’s crime.
Emrys closed his eyes.
Imonie continued to hold him. And he breathed his last in her arms.
42
A wail rose from my father. His brother’s blood stained the floor and Papa buried his face in his palms and wept.
It was the sound of a heart breaking.
The waves of his grief cut through me. I stared at Papa, at his bloodied hands. He was Imonie’s wild boy. The assassin. A reckless coward.
And I was his daughter.
The betrayer’s blood ran through my veins like quicksilver.
I rose, my feet throbbing with pins and needles. I drew a deep breath to steady myself, my gaze roaming the hall. My mother rushed to Papa’s side. Mr. Wolfe remained at a respectful distance, but his eyes were wide with shock. Nura and Olivette walked toward me, but I had no time to go to them, to try and sort the tangle of my emotions.
Someone was rushing to the dais, their boots clicking over the stone floor.
I knew it was the countess before I turned to look in that direction. She was ascending the stairs, furtively glancing over her shoulder to see if any of us were following her. Because of that action, she didn’t see Mazarine emerge from the shadows behind the chair, a crossbow in her hands. The troll shot at the countess before I could yell an order for her to hold her fire. The arrow sank into Lady Raven’s thigh, violently halting her progression, and she emitted a scream that made the hair lift on my arms.
The countess collapsed on the stairs.
Lennox stood and watched like he was hewn from stone, but Phelan rushed to assist her, gently easing the countess up and carrying her to the table.
“You’ll be fine, Mother,” he said as he briefly examined her wound.
The countess whimpered and then promptly fainted from the pain.
Mazarine continued to linger by the throne, guarding it with her crossbow. The hall fell painfully quiet, and then the troll looked at me. She arched her brow and said, “Clem?”
She’d blown my cover. The one who had cast her magic upon me now unapologetically exposed me. And yet . . . I found that I didn’t care.
I was relieved.
“Clem?” Nura echoed.
I glanced at my friends. Olivette’s brow wrinkled with confusion, but Nura was furious. The pieces had just come together for her, and I watched the betrayal brighten her eyes.
I walked to the dais stairs, expecting someone to protest my approach. For all they knew, I was about to claim the sovereignty for myself. But the silence held and simmered, and I paused on the steps and looked at Phelan.
“Phelan,” I called to him. I watched his face slacken in surprise. “Phelan, will you join me on the dais?”
He slowly left his mother’s side, as if he understood my intentions and was resisting. But he ascended as I knew he would, and he stood before me, casting a wary glance at Mazarine.
“What is this about, Clem?” he whispered, but his voice carried. Everyone could hear us.
“I want you to claim the sovereignty of Seren,” I said. “Will you sit on the throne and reinstate a new court? Will you restore the mountain duchy and bring her people home?”
He stared at me for a long moment. And then he said, “Why not you?”
I swallowed scathing laughter, but I glanced at my father, who continued to sit on the floor. He had ceased weeping and now watched the events unfolding on the dais with rapt attention.
I returned my gaze to Phelan and whispered, “I’m unworthy.”
Phelan shook his head. “I’ve never heard something more ridiculous, Clem. You’re not your father, as I’m not my mother.”
“I don’t want it.”
“Nor do I,” he countered.
I sighed, weary of arguing with him. “Will you do it for me, Phelan? For Olivette and Nura? For the people whose nightmares you once fought, for those who are lost and displaced and yet dream of the mountains? Who dream of home?”
He closed his eyes, and I knew my words had stirred something in him. I waited, and when he looked at me again, my worry and my fear began to slip away.
“I will do this, Clem, but only if you are there beside me.”
“Where else would I be?” I teased with a smile.
He reached out and traced my face, and I knew that he would do this for me. I knew that he was the one to bring life back to these mountains.
Mazarine stepped aside and Phelan turned to the throne. He began to close the distance between himself and the chair. I watched at first, eager to see this curse come to its end. But then I felt a prickling at the nape of my neck. A warning that someone was staring at me, which seemed absurd, as everyone in the hall was beholding this moment. But the past two nights, I had been attacked from behind. I had not guarded my back.
I spun to study the hall.
Everyone was just as they had been—Imonie held Emrys, my parents sat on the floor beside a puddle of blood, Nura and Olivette and Mr. Wolfe stood three tables away transfixed, the countess lay unconscious on a tabletop with Lennox at her side, and Mazarine remained close with her crossbow.