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But it’s all too neat, too terrible, too vague. Even in my sorry state, my head hurting almost as much as my heart, I can tell that this stinks to high hell.
“Are you telling me the truth?” I whisper.
“Does it matter? You said it yourself: you’re going to fill in the gaps, add the details, make the story. All that matters is that these bastard boys go down.”
I had said that, hadn’t I? Before I’d really got to know them, before I’d felt this need to protect them, help them. Before I fell for them.
“They aren’t murderers,” I whisper.
She doesn’t contradict me. “They are bullies. Bullies grow up to become murderers.”
“You don’t know that. Not always.”
“Did you come here to punish them, Mia, or to defend them? Make up your mind.”
“You can still do it,” Vanessa says. “You don’t need truth to destroy someone, Mia. You know that.”
That’s how you spread rumors and bully someone. And what does it matter if they didn’t kill—and if my relief at finding that out almost sends me to my knees? They practically murdered my cousin, for all intents and purposes put her in that coffin.
Why am I hesitating? Why am I refusing to do it?
Getting up, turning, I all but run out of the refectory. I stumble out into the gardens, the groves and rises of the Academy grounds. I want to be alone to think. To decide what to do. I have to reach a decision.
The dull, persistent ache between my legs reminds me of what I did with Sindri, of what I did with all four boys. I stop by a brook and sit on a boulder to dip my hand in the water and wash my tears away.
Someone is calling my name.
I wipe my wet hand on my skirt and take a bracing breath. I know that voice. It’s Jason. Why is he out here?
“Mia! There you are.”
It’s all four of them, I see with surprise and a little apprehension. “What do you want?”
They come toward me, four looming figures, faces grave.
“We need to talk,” Sindri says.
I lift my chin. “What about?”
Ashton stops in front of me. “You. Us. Magic.”
“I already told you who I am.”
“She did,” Emrys says but he won’t look at me. “It’s true.”
“Bullshit,” Jason says. “She has magic. And it’s not just that.”
“He’s right,” Sindri says. “You are our Queen, that mark proves it, but not only that, you’re—”
“That mark? I have one too,” a female voice says—a voice that is achingly familiar.
I spin around, my heart pounding. It’s not possible. It cannot be…
“So who cares about a mark?” A girl has come from out of the trees, a girl with long dark hair, wearing a flowery dress and sandals like a nymph of the woods. She’s smiling indulgently, happily. She’s pretty, any boy would want her. She wouldn’t even have to try.
And I know her. This girl who is like a sister to me, whose voice I never thought I’d hear ever again. I take a step toward her, barely able to believe she’s here, that she’s real and not an illusion brought on by wishful thinking.
“…Ophelia?”
