He didn’t try to tell me otherwise—it was probably obvious that I was drowning in self-loathing—and a hush surrounded us. Stars had begun to emerge, faint and tiny. The tops of the trees were barely visible against the indigo backdrop of sky. After a minute, Laurie turned, his bright eyes refocusing on my face. “We did it,” he said fiercely. “All of it. You and your wolf are safe, and with Belanor dead, I’m next in line for the throne. We should be celebrating!”
“Congratulations.” The lackluster response was all I could manage.
Laurie must’ve heard something in my voice he didn’t like. His brow lowered, and he searched my expression. “I would never try to change you, Fortuna,” he told me.
Like Collith, he had figured out what I was afraid of, and he meant this as a compliment. A reassurance. Strangely, these words weren’t ones I wanted to hear, either. I wasn’t sure what I’d wanted, exactly, but his response made my heart withdraw. “And that’s why you aren’t good for me, Laurie,” I whispered.
He frowned and gave me another assessing look. Then Laurie opened his mouth, suddenly looking more determined.
Whatever he’d been about to say was cut short when a voice said from behind, “The bloodlines are already gathering for your coronation.”
Laurie and I turned in unison, and my heart stumbled when I saw that his mother stood near the bottom of the steps.
Mab wore a gown of pure, midnight black, and her hair was covered in a dark veil. Though immortal, the faerie looked like she’d aged since our last encounter. Grief, I thought. It was grief I saw in the lines beneath her eyes and the chalky cast to her skin. In spite of his flaws, Mab had loved Belanor.
She was in mourning.
The sight of the Seelie Queen standing in our driveway was unsettling. Laurie seemed to share this opinion, because there was a cautious edge to his voice. “Mother, what are you doing here?”
She acted as if he hadn’t spoken. “I keep expecting more questions to arise as your dragon spreads the story of how Belanor died. A lover’s quarrel, was it? Such a common way to die, and Belanor was not common. But the few voices that do speak out are quickly and discreetly silenced. Earlier, when the council voted on how to handle the order of succession, the majority was in your favor. We’d been adjourned for a matter of minutes when they began the arrangements for your party. Belanor’s funeral has yet to be planned. It took him weeks to be crowned. The web you have weaved is truly lovely, son. Even I underestimated your capabilities.
“But before our people swear fealty and I entrust you with my throne again, Laurelis, you must acknowledge the truth,” the queen concluded.
“And what truth is that?” Laurie’s tone had become weary, and I recognized it from the last conversation I’d observed between him and his mother—as if he didn’t want to ask, but it was inevitable and he’d stopped fighting.
Mab held his gaze. I expected her expression to be stern, commanding. Instead, she regarded Laurie with sympathy. “The truth is why I’m here. You cannot have both, my dear,” she told him. “You cannot have the Nightmare and the throne. She weakens you. You never would’ve lost it in the first place if it hadn’t been for her.”
I was too tired to tell Mab that I had a name. I stood there and waited for Laurie to make one of his trademark jokes or comments, but he was silent. I looked at him, my gaze sharp. My pulse quickened at his continued silence. What if… what if Laurie agreed with her? Instant denial rose up, then I thought back to all the time he’d spent at my side or saving me. The denial evaporated.
There is unrest in my Court, Laurie had said once. That was before he made his sacrifice at the tomb, which had also been because of me. Even if he hadn’t given up his throne, his relationship with me had been filling it with small cracks.
Laurie still hadn’t responded to Mab. Sensing that he was about to, I silenced my thoughts. I couldn’t seem to do anything about my swirling emotions, though.
“I will not discuss this with you,” Laurie said at last. His beautiful face was pale and remote, every inch of him a faerie.
That was when I knew—he’d made a choice, whether or not he wanted to admit it. Laurelis Dondarte had gotten a taste of what his life would be like without that crown, without that throne, and apparently it had been more sour than sweet.
“Why don’t I give you two some privacy?” I suggested abruptly, my voice tight.
Neither of them responded, and the swollen silence only strengthened my urge to flee. As I went down the stairs, I thought about telling Mab I was sorry for the death of her son. But it would’ve been a lie, so I walked past silently.
Laurie didn’t try to stop me.
This was usually the part where I went to Adam’s, or ran through the woods, or made a drink. Tonight, I didn’t do any of that. Walking on legs that didn’t feel like mine, my thoughts distant and hazy, I crossed the driveway and went into the barn. The door thudded shut behind me. Upstairs, I trudged across the empty, darkened loft and into my room.
I fell into my bed fully clothed and curled into a ball. After a moment, as if I was a child again, I tugged the covers over my head.
And at long last, I slept.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
I had been avoiding Oliver and the dreamscape.
Ever since we’d faced the harpies, and learned the truth about what my parents had done, my slumber had been shallow and restless. The closest I’d gotten to Oliver was brief glimpses and flickers, like a camera going in and out of focus. I had seen his golden hair. Blue skies. Rustling treetops. Distant mountains. Frothing sea waves.
Since our hunt for memories was over, I didn’t picture any landmarks as the darkness claimed me. For a few seconds, I allowed myself to hope I’d stay there, deep in oblivion. But when a fragrant breeze whispered against my skin, I knew I’d arrived at the dreamscape. I opened my eyes, uncertain what to expect or where I’d find myself.
I wasn’t surprised, somehow, to discover that I was back at the oak tree. Back in the meadow that resided next to the sea, where there were no memories to haunt or hurt me. The crickets were loud tonight. Their song, usually soothing, grated in my ears. It wasn’t quite morning, but the stars had begun to fade. The horizon was a blend of pink and yellow. I wore my favorite pair of lounge pants and a white tank top, which I’d fallen asleep in. I searched for Oliver, trying not to look at the place where our stone cottage had once stood. Its absence still felt like a wound, and seeing the stone walkway that led to nowhere was like someone putting their fingers inside my torn flesh.
Footsteps sounded behind me. I turned and watched Oliver walk up the beaten path. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his faded jeans, his shoulders hunched beneath a wool sweater. There was no sign of our backpacks or the supplies we’d used to cross this wild, dangerous world.
“There’s something else I need to show you,” he said by way of greeting. There was a strange note in his voice, a thread of tension that seemed to weave through the rest of his body, too. The questions I’d been about to ask faded on my tongue, and I just nodded. Oliver reached the tree, then walked past. I fell into step beside him, and that was when I noticed that my feet were bare. Something stopped me from asking Oliver about the location of my hiking boots, though.