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Even Min, who seconds ago was looking at me in pity and sadness, appears infuriated now. Red-faced, shaking her fist, and screaming.
It’s deafening and terrifying. I can’t hear or see anything as I fruitlessly attempt to raise my bound hands to cover my ears, my eyes squinting closed to guard myself against the crush of people pressing forward.
Their hands claw at the steps, grasping at our toes, clawing at our ankles. But then Marcus yells for them to stand back. They stop then, held back by some invisible line that they dare not cross.
Through the chaos, I feel Isolde’s hands grasping for mine, pulling me closer to her. Cracking my eyes open, I see that she’s pulled Stella into her other side. Obviously, just awoken, Stella looks wary and confused.
Isolde brings her face down to my ear and yells something. I can’t hear her, though. Pulling back, I shake my head dumbly, surprised to see tears coating her light green eyes.
“What’s happening?” I scream, but she can’t hear me either and shakes her head in confusion.
Finally, Marcus is standing tall in front of us, showing us his back as he waves his arms and yells at the crowd. Miraculously, he manages to get through to them, and they quiet down enough for him to be heard—at least by us.
“I understand everyone is excited! But our visitors will be here soon, and we must show them we can do this in an orderly fashion. We have to be calm, and … I just need my assistant…” He curses, turning toward us, muttering about how useless Cass is before kneeling in front of us.
He settles his hate-filled gaze on Isolde. “I didn’t think I was ever going to get this opportunity, so if I have to do the dirty work myself, so be it.”
“Marcus, be rational,” Isolde says, her voice laced with emotion. “Is this really what Bryn would have wanted from you?”
“Doesn’t matter. This is how it’s going to work, Solly,” he says, grabbing hold of my bindings and pulling me to my feet. “You’re going to watch your daughter and this beta die, and then you’re going to die.”
“What?” Stella shrieks, now fully awake. “Mother, what’s happening?”
Haphazardly, Marcus reaches down, grabbing my wrist. He pulls me forward, the crowd cheering as I yank my hands, fighting him every inch of the way.
“No! Marcus, don’t!” Isolde screams. “Don’t hurt her! Please! Just kill me!”
Marcus ignores her, his blunt fingers firm around my wrists. He pulls me down the steps and into the crowd. Fingers claw at me, and faces scream angrily close to my face. I flinch and cry out as someone pulls my hair. Someone else steps hard on my toes.
“She’s your daughter!” Isolde’s scream is so loud that it shadows everything.
Everything stops.
The crowd stops screaming and pushing, I stop fighting, and Marcus stops pulling, his fingers loosening around my arm as he turns toward Isolde slowly.
She collapses, sobbing and curling in a ball next to Stella, who watches her in awe. For once, Stella is speechless. And I don’t blame her. Her mother looks like a baby, her hair loose and wild, and her face red and tear stained.
Although her words are still echoing in my skull, I’m more disturbed by the sobbing than anything else. I’ve never seen her like this—bawling and messy in her greenhouse dress, crumbled in a pile of limbs in front of the entire town.
I have to go to her, I realize, a surge of emotion crumbling my every other thought.
I yank my arm hard, and Marcus drops it in surprise. Not looking back at him, I bounce and then crawl forward. Once I’m close to Isolde, I set my bound hands on her back and rub them over the coarse fabric of her dress.
“No, you’re lying again,” Marcus mutters blankly behind me. “I was there just after Bryn died. It was only Joanna…”
“There were two babies, you idiot.” Isolde’s voice is like I’ve never heard it. Guttural. Nasty. “Tansy and I got this one away before you could get your grubby paws on her.” She dissolves even further then, screaming and pounding the steps dramatically. “She was a tiny beta, so we knew what you’d do to her.”
“I wouldn’t have done anything to her!” he yells, obviously exasperated. “You had no right!” He huffs emotionally, turning on his feet before repeating in a much softer voice, “She had no right.”
I don’t look up at him. I can’t … it feels impossible.
Instead, I keep rubbing Isolde’s back, making soothing, shushing noises as she lets all her emotions out, seemingly years of it. She clings to my skirts—wailing, howling, cursing. It’s endless.
“It’s okay, Isolde,” I murmur. “I’m fine, and so are you. He’s not going to hurt you.”
I glance up at Marcus to find him watching me, horrified. Shaking his head softly, he doesn’t say anything.
The crowd is dead quiet, as well, watching with similar horror-stricken expressions. It goes on forever—the crying, confusion, and blank staring—until it finally ends.
