In the meantime, Lyra, Vesper, and Cyprian passed through the secret alchemy lab and were on their way up the stairs leading to the magical entrance that would land them directly within the dungeon’s corridors. As they walked by wall sconces lighting the darkness for Vesper’s eyes, Lyra tried to get the image of the lab out of her head. The dusty and mildewed space, filled with rubble and debris, presented a sad tribute to the splendor that it once must have held, hundreds of years earlier beneath the hands of a masterful mage. Though Nerezeth’s historical scrolls didn’t offer specific details, Vesper had shared that the damage was done when the earth opened to swallow Nerezeth, killing Lachrymosa and indenturing Vesper’s people to a life of eternal night and ice.
The ruins had reminded Lyra of her walk along the Crystal Lake, the first and only time she’d viewed her kingdom up close: strangled by monstrous vines and vicious flowers. How she hoped the moonlight would grace Eldoria’s skies again, wither the honeysuckle plague, and return the castle to the glittering ivory beacon it once was. She wanted nothing more than to see the people outside—playing, working, living. Just as she hoped the sun would cure the sickness in Nerezeth so Vesper’s people could live again.
She and Vesper had spoken at length after the convocation—over a late dinner shared with Selena, Luce, and Cyprian, who took a hidden passage to her tower chamber—about their concerns for their kingdoms and their people. They both worried as to how any union—no matter its sacred basis—could realign their skies. But as everyone had so much to lose if the magic failed, Vesper and Lyra agreed to simply love one another, trust one another, and have faith enough to aid the prophecy where they could.
Which brought them to where they were now.
Reaching the impassable wall, Vesper manipulated a row of stones, using a code Madame Dyadia had given him. The barrier opened to the dungeon and the three stepped within.
Lyra’s nerves evolved to nausea, and she regretted eating that helping of plums in rosewater. The roasted boar should’ve been enough. It had just been so nice to have warm food served at a table in the company of people she could converse and tease with, she’d forgotten to consult her stomach until it was filled to the brim.
After passing fifteen cells, Vesper stopped.
Cyprian took a step back. “Not to pull rank, Majesty, but do keep it short, and not too sweet,” he requested. “I don’t wish to get on the bad side of a sylph who can sense my every desire and turn it into an irresistible force.”
“For the sake of my sister’s honor, I’ll concede this once.” Vesper smirked.
Cyprian grinned back. “You know, such a skill could be formidable in military strategies. Perhaps one day in the future, our queen might use her persuasion with her guardian . . . convince him to stay on as a magical resource?”
Lyra quirked an eyebrow. I’ll consider it, she signed, if you’ll turn your back and give us the illusion of privacy. You can’t be blamed for what you don’t see, after all.
Cyprian laughed then faced the opposing wall.
“Well played,” Vesper teased Lyra. “Never thought I’d reap the benefits of civic diplomacy honed in the dark market.”
She shrugged. As I recall, you thought my bargaining lessons a waste of time.
“Hmmm. It would appear I owe Luce a thank-you for that, too.” He cocked his head in thought. “Let’s not tell him.”
She smiled as he searched under his royal robes to fish a set of tarnished keys from the fur-trimmed tunic beneath. They jingled on their loop as he unlocked the large wooden door.
“This is the one,” he said. The hinges creaked open at his touch. The sconces from the corridor intruded on the space with flickering orange strokes, revealing everything he had prepared her to see.
Lyra’s smile faded as she stood at the threshold, taking it in: the stench of must and stale body odor, the flutter of moths sweeping back and forth, black mice scampering about among hundreds of glowing spiders scuttling across the floor. Others dangled from the ceiling on silken webs. They looked like stars, juxtaposed against the dingy gray stones, and the beauty of those luminescent constellations almost coaxed her to step inside, until her attention caught on the torture device against the wall. It was opened, displaying the metal spikes lining both the lid and the bed. Just as Vesper described, it resembled a coffin.
She hardened her chin to keep it from trembling.
“I’m sorry . . . I know it reminds you of your arrival to the ravine.”
She shook her head. There’s no memory. Only a foreboding dread. A knowing that I shouldn’t know. If I could grasp it, I could put it to rest.
His eyebrows knitted and he took her hand, bringing her close enough to press her knuckles to his soft lips. “Those memories will be yours soon,” he said, his warm breath scented with winterberry wine from dinner. “Dyadia has Crony’s ensorcelled box now. And once you win your crown—”
It will open. Lyra finished his sentence and caressed his face with her free hand, grateful for the reminder. Luce was still being obscure about Crony’s whereabouts, but at least he’d shared some of the details of the note she’d left him.
Vesper kissed Lyra’s wrist. His lips lingered there, at the edge of her sleeve’s cuff, leaving no question that he wanted to continue—past her forearm to the bend of her elbow, along her shoulder and to her neck.
He lifted his face, eyes ablaze with a new light. There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask, he said in their mind-speak. All along, it’s been assumed, but that’s not fair to you. So here, with no one listening—his gaze flicked to Cyprian’s back—or watching, I want to do this right, just between us. He swallowed hard. Lady Lyra, will you marry me and be my queen for life? Rule by my side in both day and night?
Lyra studied his beautiful, somber features, awed by the sweetness of the gesture. In the eyes of the world, they were betrothed already, but for him to ask . . . to give her the choice . . . and not as a prince and princess, but as a boy and girl whose friendship had blossomed into something lovelier still, it restored some of the control she’d lost, which is exactly what she needed in this moment. To feel strong. Confident. Whole, and hopeful.
I will, she answered without hesitation, stroking his cheek.
Thank the stars and moon! He turned his mouth to her palm and kissed her there. Then he pulled her close. Once you’re mine, I’ll pay homage to each scar on your body ever made on my behalf. Including any you may acquire tonight.
Cyprian cleared his throat. “I can’t see you, but I know what that silence means. To borrow Luce’s insight earlier at dinner: Pillow talk, be it aloud or in the head, is inappropriate for anywhere but the couple’s wedding bed.”
Lyra and Vesper shared a grin.
Releasing a breath, she faced the doorway again, muscles tensed and coiled.
“You can do this, Lyra,” Vesper urged. “You’re the most courageous girl I’ve ever known. And a Pegasus has the highest of standards.”
Lyra leveled an amused glance at him, welcoming any distraction.
The sudden roar of shouts and cheers burst through the upper levels, indicating the procession had begun.
“It’s now, or not at all,” Vesper said.
Right. She allowed him to hold her balanced by an elbow as she worked off her slippers, one by one. So I won’t break the spiders’ fragile legs, she explained.
Vesper nodded. As Scorch, he had been there when Mistress Umbra predicted Lyra’s final trial to find herself—to walk through stars and wrap herself in spikes. This wasn’t a surprise to either of them. But only in this moment did it finally make sense.
She handed her slippers to Vesper for him to hide, then took one last look at him. That flame still glowed behind his dark eyes, and had warmed to pride.
Lifting to her toes, she hugged him. He held her close, nuzzling the place where the scarf met her neck, before breaking free and nudging her across the threshold. The door shut with a muffled thud behind her—a sound that echoed like a lonely sigh.
Yet she wasn’t alone. The mice squeaked all around her, gray as the stones. Her eyes lit to amplify the soft light emanating from the spidery constellations. Shadows rose from the corners. She’d seen them following on the way here, but they’d kept to themselves, as if they’d known to wait for this moment when she’d need them most.
Empowered by their presence, she shuffled forward so as not to crush any night creatures, her bare feet cold upon the gritty stone. The moths drifted gracefully toward the nail bed, as if to lead the way.
The cheers grew louder down the corridor. They were almost outside the cell. A sense of urgency rushed Lyra the last few steps—close enough to lay her palm across the nails. Her heart quailed, anticipating punctures all over her body. Vesper had advised her about pressure points and positioning for the least damage. She rolled herself onto the spikes and tried to remain still. The points jutted against her, but nothing pierced through . . . yet.
She shut her eyes, but couldn’t pull the lid down, couldn’t seal herself within. Dread held her immobile, so she asked her shadows to do it instead. They obeyed, sandwiching her between the nails.
There was no time to panic, for the doors were already opening in the cells.