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“I think we did it.” I can barely believe the words leaving my mouth, the hope that is bursting from every pore in my body, even as I tell myself it’s premature. “I think we found the cure.”
The transformation takes nearly half an hour. I barely remember to breathe until her screams lessen and her wheezes stop entirely.
Her onyx skin is soft and fresh, with no signs of the feathers that covered her for so long. Her beak is gone, replaced with features I’ve known for my entire life, features I had begun to believe I would never see again.
Leif hasn’t left her side, and we’ve not been able to keep the observers at the door away.
Sigrid means so much to all of us, but not only that. For the first time in nearly two decades, they look at her and see hope. Her screams had drawn them here, but they stayed to watch her heal. Now, we all hold our breaths waiting to see if Sigrid will wake up.
Hours pass.Servants and nobles alike have been making their way here to watch and wait. No one has left for food or drink, or even the privy. The hall is flooded with anxious people desperate to know if we’ve found the cure...if it finally worked.
If they, too, can finally be allowedhope.
My head is resting in my arms on Sigrid’s bed when I hear a gasp and feel a hand on my shoulders.
I sit up slowly, turning to face her, and she’s...smiling.
“Sig--” My voice cracks with emotion. “Sigrid?”
“Úlfur,” she answers, her voice clearer and stronger than it has been in years.
A cry of relief goes through every person in the room and echoes down the halls.
I can barely believe what I am seeing. After seventeen years, Sigrid -- my Sigrid -- is back. I take in every inch of her from her round, comforting face with the piercing blue gaze that has always seen too much, to the long, strong arms that have held me in my darkest moments.
This woman had been my family when my own died. She had spent her days and nights looking after me, taking care of me. And now...after years of suffering and despair, she is finally whole again.
When her hand raises to gently cup my cheek, a tear streams down my face. It’s as if I’m watching someone come back from the dead.
I practically scoop her up, and she clings to me just as surely as I do to her.
“I have already lost one mother,” I whisper to her. “I am so grateful I didn’t lose another.”
Sigrid squeezes me tighter, and I relish the strength of her grasp, something she has been losing for years with her transformation.
My shoulder is wet from the tears I know are spilling down her cheeks. We stay in our embrace until a familiar, putrid voice interrupts us.
“So, My King, when can we expect a cure for the rest of us?” Odger asks, pushing his way into the room.
Just like that, all hope disappears. As I take in each face, I realize there is not nearly enough of the cure left for all of them, but I am careful to keep any hint of that from my features when I answer in a confident voice.
“Soon.” I will find a way to make my answer true.
Chapter Forty-Two
Zaina
Iwatch through a crack in the secret door, waiting until Sigrid finally speaks. The room erupts, overflowing with the weight of seventeen years of pent-up emotion and shattered dreams. Until now.
It hardly seems real, their nightmare coming to an end at last. I take in the pure, unadulterated joy on Einar’s face and soak in the unfamiliar sight, letting it thaw something inside of me.
As Khijha and I make our way back to Einar’s rooms, my head spins with a million possibilities.
If we had discovered the cure, defied Madame’s expectations, maybe Einar was right. Maybe there were other chinks in her armor. Maybe she wasn’t as invincible as I had always believed her to be.
By the time I return to his chambers, the main door is bursting open. Einar storms toward me.
I have a moment of panic, wondering if something happened after I left, when he wraps his arms around me.
