At last came the final memory . . . being dropped within a coffin at Bartley’s and Erwan’s hands. Vesper twitched like a predator waiting to pounce, his fingers clawing the table, knuckles bulging beneath his rich, lovely skin. He sat there long enough to witness the two knights dropping in the cadaver brambles and scorpions, making her writhe and scream until her voice was gone.
Choking back a growl, he shoved out of his chair, knocking it over. He knelt in front of Lyra. “My queen, your family belongs to you alone.” His low rumbling voice, paired with flaring nostrils and embers in his eyes, was more unsettling than a roar. “But grant me one favor. Give me Bartley.”
Lyra stroked his hand and nodded.
Kissing her forehead, he turned to Luce. “After the memory weave is done, see that she gets back to her chambers. She’ll need to rest before we visit the infirmary.”
“Of course,” Luce answered.
Vesper left the chamber without another word.
Lyra’s hands shook as she asked Luce if she’d made a mistake.
The barely contained fury on his face mirrored Vesper’s. “No. He has been affected by this, too. And considering I got the pleasure of snapping Erwan’s neck, it’s only right your king has his turn. He grew up killing monsters. Let him put that talent to use.”
Lyra looked back to the glass book. She was done viewing her memories like a distant bystander. She wanted to experience them, wanted them ingrained—fused to her mind and body with every emotion and sensory element that made them distinctly her own—no matter how painful.
She asked the sorceress to explain the procedure.
“Your part is simple.” Madame Dyadia tugged at the glowing threads binding the book and drew them out into one long string that drifted in the air. Catching it, she spun and spun the strand until it frayed into pale, smoky mist. White sparks blinked within, like lightning trapped in a cloud. She guided the flashing mist to settle over Lyra’s head and face. “These are the breaths of your resurrection. Close your eyes, and inhale.”
31
The Spectacular Spectacle of Merciful Doom
Queen Lyra was accompanied by Selena to the castle’s infirmary, as her king had been detained by his appointment with Bartley and was to meet them there.
Inside the humid ballroom, the scent of panacea petals simmering in water overwhelmed, along with the sounds of coughing and choked gasps. This demonstration of Nerezeth’s desperate need for sunlight weighed heavy on Lyra’s crown. She walked alongside Selena between cots and looked at each face—whether sleeping or awake in their torment. Those who looked back she acknowledged with a dip of the head, an assuring smile, and a pat on the hand. Hearing the words “The stars bless you, Majesty” and seeing patients’ eyes light up with awe and anticipation fed an all-consuming sense of duty—and the hope that she and Vesper could live up to such faith.
A few rows down, her king came into sight alongside Cyprian. The two men crouched next to a cot that held a small occupant. Selena caught Lyra’s arm so they could watch and listen from a distance, unseen.
“Oh, please! Again, Sir Nocturne!” the boy on the cot pleaded with a groggy voice. “Start where his Majesty dragged the prisoner through the Grim. But more gore this time.”
Vesper shook his head, the tips of his crown glinting gray in the lantern-light. “Now, Nyx, we must be gallant. There’s a lady present.”
The boy huffed, his feet wriggling beneath his sheet. “Where?”
“Me, you knob-head,” a little girl in the adjacent cot answered.
The boy snorted. “Elsa’s no lady! She’s my sister.”
The girl scowled at her brother then turned to Vesper. “Oh please, Majesty. I’m strong like our new queen. One day, I’ll face the Grim and ride brumal stags, and wear scars prettier than diamond necklaces. I’m not wobbly kneed at all!”
Lyra and Selena exchanged smiles.
“All right,” Vesper said with a laugh in his voice. “But after this, you both need to rest.”
The girl tossed off her sheet and scrambled onto Nyx’s cot, knees drawn to her chest.
“First,” Cyprian began, “our brave king dragged Bartley outside the Grim to a snowy plot known to harbor a pack of cadaver brambles. A handful of groundsmen and guards followed to watch.”
“I’ve been there!” Nyx nodded.
“You lie like a frog on a log,” his sister scoffed.
“Shhh.” Cyprian held a finger to his lips. “Next, His Majesty ordered everyone to stand back and not interfere, no matter the outcome. Then he loosened the prisoner’s binds and gave the scoundrel the opportunity to fight for his freedom—hand-to-hand combat.”
Vesper boxed the air and tottered about on his knees, demonstrating. His crown slid askew and he had to straighten it. The children giggled. Lyra’s love kindled bright, to see how deeply he cared, how deftly he distracted the little ones from their drab surroundings and illness.
“They were well matched in their skills,” Cyprian nudged Vesper with an elbow. “But our king had brute strength and fierce instincts driving him. Not to mention justice for his beloved betrothed.”
Upon hearing this, Elsa cooed and stared moon-eyed at Vesper.
“After wrestling about in the snow, our king tricked Bartley into thinking he was tiring out, all to lure him to the tallest drift. He tackled him there, rolling them into a bramble. They were both captured by the spiny monster at one point, and it took all I had to hold the spectators back.”
Vesper wrapped his royal robe around himself, as if he were tangled up.
“But they needn’t have worried.”
Vesper stretched his arms, the robe flapping open like giant wings.
“’Cause he broke free!” Nyx’s sleepy eyes widened. “We know how to fight monsters here . . .”
Vesper and Cyprian exchanged somber glances.
“That we do. Our Majesty defeated his bramble and escaped. But Bartley didn’t fare so well. By the time King Vesper freed him from the spikes, the prisoner was mangled and broken. So, his majesty drew the royal broadsword and put him out of his misery in one fell swoop.”
“Then you dragged his bloody bag of bones and lopped-off head back here so Eldoria’s regent could get a good long look!” Nyx added, before having to cover his mouth on a cough.
“We did,” Cyprian assured. “She’s well and duly primed for the sentencing now.”
The story wound down as Vesper spotted Lyra. She waved, and he motioned her over to meet the children before they tucked them in again.
As they left for the throne room, Lyra held Vesper back so Cyprian and Selena moved a few steps ahead. Studying the fresh bruises, welts, and lacerations and cuts along her king’s face, neck, hands, and wrists, she could only imagine the damage his royal robe, stockings, boots, and tunic were hiding. Though wildness shimmered hot in his eyes, there was a satisfaction that hadn’t been there since this all began.
She squeezed his hand and he lifted hers to kiss her wrist. You were wonderful with those children, she said between them.
He looked into her eyes. I want to be a good king.
You already are. She smiled. To see the bounce in his step despite the bruised face and battered hands was like watching Scorch prance around in smoky circles with pointed shafts stuck in his hide after he’d blazed and trampled his way out of a rain of arrows. Just as Luce had said, Vesper had needed this victory, for his honor as much as hers. By meting out justice at the hand . . . or barbs . . . of the same beast Bartley had used to torment an innocent child, he had reinforced his reputation as a fair and assertive ruler capable of protecting and defending his people.
Also, I happen to know from my own experiences, Lyra told him, that the best kings make the best fathers.
His jaw dropped in remembrance of her monumental appointment with Dyadia. “Of course! Your memories.” He brought her hand to his chest. “Tell me everything . . .”
Later, she promised as Luce came into view. They caught up to him, then to Selena and Cyprian.
Upon Luce’s request, the first knight regaled him with the details of Bartley’s demise. During the telling, Vesper slanted Luce a sly glance, waggling his brows. Luce rolled his eyes, though his lips twitched on what Lyra recognized as a rare smile of approval.
Once they arrived outside the throne room, Vesper sent Cyprian for something Lyra had specifically requested to aid in the sentencing.
Luce parted from the group and blended into the crowd as Selena, Vesper, and Lyra followed a fragrant trail of lavender panacea rose petals leading to the dais. Catching sight of their king and queen, the audience bowed their heads in welcome.