Page 251 of Carousel

Everyone in the room seems to just watch as the blood soaks through our captain’s maroon shirt, spreading out red and dark around it. The sight, red on red, reminds me of petals within petals. Like those of the Hevallan hibiscus that had adorned the vases at his own dinner.

Under his breath, in my ear, Drake mutters, “I told you I wouldn’t have missed.”

I take a closer look at Dezeeves. His eyes have widened. I believe, in his final seconds of life, he saw the knife coming from Drake’s hand. I wonder if his brother’s words about complacency repeated themselves in his ears. Must have sounded as loud and long and inevitable as the bell for Temple.

His laughter has stopped. His mouth is parted, and I almost expect him to say something. A joke. A parting wisecrack. A noble-sounding comment to make us reconsider our actions, our loyalties – or simply feel threatened.

But for the first time – maybe in his life – he’s completely silent.

He stumbles back, as if involuntarily, and collapses onto his knees before his body slumps with a thud to the floor. His long leather coat wraps him like a shroud.

FIs, shocked to their senses now, are screaming.

Meg winces, but looks away.

Rike is staggering towards me. As if to protect me from this very thing that I had a hand in initiating.

But Drake is already slotting his fingers in mine. I don’t think we will ever let go of each other again now.

And I can feel it. His magic, pulling towards mine.

Instinctively, I let it.

Our power becomes one entity. Because it always was. It never should have been split.

But the love that will grow between us will keep it together. Keep it strong, stable, beautiful, like this, forever.

You will forget what you have just seen, we will them all.

Dezeeves left the ship in the evacuation. Drake and Meg steered the ship.

Dezeeves was never here at all.

I even know where we will take him and leave him, when we have the right moment. The brig is longing for a prisoner it deserved.

We step around him and exit the hatch, the others following, and it feels a lot like the procession my neighbours and I used to make on a Provision Day. I realise that, ironically, today is Seventh Day. If my village hadn’t been destroyed, my neighbours murdered, they’d be doing exactly that.

As we emerge, the Queen’s court cheer and an orchestra begin playing. A wooden ramp has been erected for us. Drake and I lead the way, as we should, my arm in his.

The air smells sweet from the flowers in the gardens around us, but also from the compounded magic in the air. I can recognise that distinct, vaguely citrusy scent now. It lingers over Drake sometimes.

Enormous butterflies and bees flutter through the air. Swans upon swans huddle or strut by the Queen’s Lake to our left. The rose garden is directly on the right of the courtyard. The maze is just beyond it. And the spires of the palace up ahead are sharp and gleaming.

A group of people are standing at the foot of the ramp. I would recognise the Queen anywhere with her imposing stature and height and dark, edged, solid features that are so much like Drake’s. Her emerald gown, complete with traditional long sleeves and a high lace collar, swallows her. My gaze lands on my mother next, beside her. She’s beaming at me. I can’t help it. I smile back.

The whole time we descend the ramp, I keep my head held high, and my steps slow and steady.

“My boy,” the Queen gushes in her melodic voice, her arms out wide. He begins to bow to her, but she stops him, enveloping him in a hug. “My boy. Home at last.”

She turns to her court.

“My son,” she declares. “My heir. Has returned to us from his years of training in Lartos, and then serving his country.”

The court are beside themselves.

She turns to me.

I curtsey to her, deeply. I keep my gaze averted from hers until the very last second when I’m standing again.