“Eat!”
The Grand Gallery clinked with the ding of cutlery on plates. Everyone in the room began to eat, chewing and grinding, gurgling and smacking, the sound of hundreds of teeth ripping into soft animal flesh.
Mia had never seen anything so horrific.
“This isn’t what Dujia are meant to do. Magic is not about lording power over innocent people. It’s meant to correct the imbalance of power.”
“Who here is innocent?” Angie gestured first toward the Hunters, then the royals. “Who among them hasn’t hurt or raped or killed women like us?”
Mia shifted, uncomfortable. Her sister wasn’t wrong.
“But you’ve taken over their bodies without their consent.”
“Just like they’ve spent centuries taking over ours.” Angie plucked an invisible speck from the bodice of her gown. “You’re just not used to seeing me strong.”
“If you were strong, you wouldn’t need to enkindle people to make them follow you.”
“You always do this!” Angie said, suddenly vicious. “My whole life you’ve treated me like a victim—your sick little sister. How could I ever survive without you? It’s why I knew you’d come running back the minute I sent you that swan. Gods forbid sweet little Angie be without her big brave sister to save the day. You always wanted to fix me, but you were wrong. I was never broken.”
Mia nodded toward Quin. “The prince has never hurt anyone. He’s only tried to correct the wrongs of his father.” She gestured toward the feasting table, where her friends moved their mouths and hands in sharp, manic motions. “Domeniq is innocent. So is Pilar. And yet you hold them hostage, too.”
“An unfortunate consequence.” She waved a hand. “Be still!” she shouted, and the Gallery grew quiet. She coughed again, this time more violently, and clutched the moonstone to her chest.
Mia had a new theory.
“I think you’ve warped the magic inside Mother’s stone. She enthralled Father for years, and she struggled with the weight of that every day. But she also tried to use her magic for good. That moonstone was where she stored her magic—it helped her heal people who were sick or hurting. But you’ve taken the stone and twisted it into something else. And in return, it’s twisted you. It’s making you sick, Ange.”
Mia summoned all her courage. “Let these people go. It’s not too late.”
Angelyne’s smile was bent, her eyes bright with an emotion Mia couldn’t place.
“But they haven’t seen the entertainment.”
Her gown whispered like a summer breeze as she paced the Hunters’ table. Their weapons were all within reach—knives, daggers, bows—but their arms remained glued to their sides.
“Hunters, stand.”
The ten remaining Hunters stood. Angelyne lifted a goblet of blackthorn wine. She held it high and beamed her beatific smile.
“To the heroes of this feast. You are the warriors who purge the four kingdoms of magic. You are the ones who live and die by the Hunters’ Creed: Heart for a heart, life for a life. And so, for all the hearts you have destroyed, for all the lives you have taken, I give you: justice.”
She let the goblet drop, the glass shattering on the floor, red wine puddling between the shards.
The Hunters fell.
Chapter 58
Grief and Shame and Magic
THE HUNTERS COLLAPSED IN one solid line, some tipping forward and crashing into their dinner plates; others falling backward, smashing their heads against the hard stone. Except for the skulls that cracked open, no blood was spilled.
Mia was suffocating on air. She felt each death echo in her own heart, so many doors slamming shut, so much emptiness. The lone Huntress slumped forward, her face meeting an ignominious end in a pot of stew. Her white hair was thin and brittle at the scalp. She seemed so exposed, so achingly human.
Compassion welled in Mia’s chest. If the Hunters believed Gwyrach were dangerous, it was only because that was the truth they had been taught. Theirs was a culture in which Gwyrach were demons who brought nothing but pain and suffering. Maybe the Hunters were evil heartless killers and murderers—or maybe they were simply misguided. After all, they, like Mia herself, had thought they were doing the right thing.
They were all victims of the river kingdom, she realized. Infected by centuries of living under Clan Killian—their lies, their cruelties, their hate.
“I showed compassion,” Angelyne said. “I could have boiled their blood, burned them alive from the inside out. That’s what I did to Tristan’s little friend.” A smile played at the corners of her mouth. “That rapist deserved it. But I showed mercy on the Hunters. Ten hearts ceasing to beat; a quick, painless death.”
Mia’s eyes alighted on her father at the feasting table, then Domeniq. At least Angie had not grouped them in with the Hunters. At least they were still alive.
This was all her fault. Angie’s words echoed her own at the final feast, when she had evoked death and vengeance, a perverted sort of justice. Her sister was merely following her example—and giving that justice one final twist.
“I was wrong, Ange. I know I was. But you don’t have to make the same mistakes I did. Whatever that stone has done to you . . . whatever lies Zaga has whispered in your ear . . . this is wrong.”
“Is it? Are you sure? Because this was the Creed you lived by: hearts and lives for hearts and lives. You can’t deny the Hunters have slaughtered hundreds of Dujia, maybe thousands. I am simply repaying the debt.”
“There has to be another way. This isn’t you, Ange. You’re not a murderer. You’re gentle. You love music and dancing and reading novels. Remember how we used to twirl through the cottage in Mother’s gowns?”
“We were children, Mia! Real life is not about twirling. It’s about shame and loss and painful choices. Choices that blur the line between what is lovely and what is foul.” Angelyne let out her breath. “You think this has been easy for me? I’ve looked up to you since I was little. I thought you knew everything. But when I discovered I had magic, I was afraid of what you would do.”
“I only wanted to protect you. There are so many things to be frightened of in this world. My whole life I’ve tried to keep you safe . . .”
“What if I told you I’m the reason Mother is dead?”
Mia willed herself calm.
“It isn’t true. I killed Mother when we fought.”
“No,” Angie said. “You didn’t. She was still alive.”
The objection withered on her lips. Mia heard no whoosh of blood. Angelyne was telling the truth.
“She was there when we came home from the market,” Angie said. “Father left to help the Hunters cart their latest trophy to the Kaer, so I went into the cottage alone and found a basket of food half packed on the kitchen table. And then, through the window, I looked out into the woods behind our house and saw Mother with Lauriel du Zol.”
Tears were filling Mia’s eyes. If what Angie was saying were true, it meant Mia hadn’t killed her mother by touching her. As she had stomped through the woods that day, her rage slowly dimming, her mother was still alive.
“She wasn’t wearing her gloves,” Angelyne continued. “She had her hands on Lauriel’s head—and Lauriel was sobbing, saying she wanted to die. I thought Mother was killing her.”
“She was healing her! Lauriel had just lost her husband. Mother was calming her mind.”
“I know that now. But at the time all I saw was our mother touching her best friend while she shook and screamed. In that moment I saw it all so clearly: Mother was the Gwyrach the Hunters were looking for. She had murdered Sach’a and Junay’s father, and now she would murder their mother, too.
“But I was too much of a coward to stop her. I cowered in the kitchen, too frightened to go outside. I was weak—you were right about that part.”