“We are not enemies of the Royal House. We are here on behalf of the Royal House. House Alta. We’re here on behalf of our leader, the rightful God-King of Selara, King Ronan III.” It feels strange to say his name so formally, but I hope it helps to get my point across.
“I am sorry, ma’am, but the Royal House is House Verran. The God-Queen is her majesty Adria I. My oath is sworn to her, and I am honor-bound to uphold it.”
“Fuck your honor,” says Seth. “We took out your elixirs. The city will fall within days. Do you want to be on the wrong side when it does?”
“I serve no side,” she says, her face unflinching. “I serve only Vayla and the crown that she embodies.”
“Take us to Adria then, if you must,” I say, seeing no other way forward. “The woman there is the Guild Mistress, and she is blameless in this. We forced her to admit us into these rooms.” I meet Hypatia’s eyes, and she nods.
I spare no such kindness for Fushi. He may be loyal to Karis, but I don’t doubt he’ll turn against us given the opportunity. Letthem take him for questioning. He knows next to nothing about Ronan’s plans.
We follow Ser Lucia through the ruined halls as Guild alchemists in special masks and gloves sweep away the remains of our destruction. We’re placed into a prison carriage much like the one the guards used to carry me from the Arena after they thought I’d killed Ronan, and we’re brought into the palace gates.
My chest tightens as I see the blue and green banners when we’re let out onto the palace steps. I dread seeing Adria again, but in the end, isn’t this exactly where we wanted to be? It won’t be easy, but if she doesn’t execute us immediately, we can find a way to do what we came here to do.
The bells chime midnight as we ascend. I stop, turning to the west. There will be an explosion at any moment now if Larus and Octavia were successful.
The air is still and silent. A lone owl hoots, and one of the Order of the Sun grabs onto my arm, urging me forward.
They failed. Gods, I hope they’re alright. If they caught them, maybe they’ll be brought to the palace too. We’ll stand more of a chance if we’re together. Even more so if the guards don’t realize that Larus is earth-born.
I lift my eyes up the castle steps to the silhouette of a woman at the top. She looks thinner than I remembered, but it’s hard to get a good look at her with her back turned. She begins to turn around, but she’s stopped by a loud crash in the distance.
She turns to the sound—to the west—and we turn with her, watching as a series of fiery explosions chains along the western wall, the booms and shakes reaching us half a second after the sight.
“Inside!” shouts Ser Lucia. “Inside! We’re under attack!” She and the guards rush us up the stairs, but the figure at the top ofthe stairs runs down them, not up, running not in the direction of the explosions but towards us. Towards Seth and towards me.
My heart stops in my chest as her white hood falls back.
It isn’t Adria.
There, a dozen steps above me and running in my direction, is my mother.
Chapter Forty-Four
For a woman ten years dead, my mother runs fast.
My first thought is that Adria has dyed her hair brown somehow. It’s not a common practice, but perhaps she thought disguising herself would make a difference on the battlefield. Maybe she had a wig made for the same purpose.
But then I see the silver at her temples. And the lines on her face.
And then she lowers her shadows over us.
“Mother?” asks Seth, his voice small and breaking.
“Inside,” she says, and my heart cracks in half, the pieces splintering and crashing to the palace steps around me, freezing me in place.
It’s her voice.
My mother’s voice. How many nights had I lain in bed, trying desperately to remember what she sounded like? How many times had I wished for just one more day with her, just one more conversation? To hear her say my name just one more time?
Sometime in the past eleven years since she left us, I had forgotten the sound of her voice, but my body remembers. My ears fill with wool, closing out everything that isn’t her.
“Come on, Sylvara. It isn’t safe. I’ll explain everything, I promise.”
She holds out her hand, and I take it. It’s bony and thin, far thinner than I remembered, almost frail. Her skin is leathery and calloused, and I should wonder why, where she has been, what happened to her to make her this way, to keep her from us for so long, but I don’t care.
My mother isalive.
