“It doesn’t matter,” I tell her, my throat tight. “We’re going back now. We’ll fix it. You’ll be fine.”
Panicked, I look to the Dark One, who is waiting for my signal. It comes forward, but when the Fey tries to lift her, Olivia screams as part of her forearm shatters and crumbles away. The Dark One hesitates, and Olivia’s eyes meet mine and there is a look of such horror, such complete fear, that my vision goes blurry with tears.
“Please, Liv. Let him at least try.”
“I can’t,” she rasps.
“I know it might hurt at first, but we can fix this. We’re going back and—”
She stops me by laying a hand on my arm. Her fingertips are so fragile, a couple of them crumble beneath the pressure of her grip. But her eyes—those are horribly clear and every bit the Olivia I’ve always known. “Please,” she whispers. “I can’t. Just go. Leave me. You have to get out of here.”
A sobbing gasp erupts from my chest. “I can’t do that, Liv. You saved me. Now stop being so damn stubborn, so I can save you back,” I tell her, my voice choked by tears as I cling as gently as I can to her hand.
Her mouth tries to smile, but she’s too fragile. Too brittle. When the corners of her lips start to crack, she shakes her head instead, a barely imperceptible motion. Her eyes begin to go dim, and when she speaks, her voice comes out stiff and halting, as though she can barely form the words. “Go,” she says, determined. “Someone has to . . . tell my parents. . . . Make sure they’re okay . . .” Her eyes meet mine, filled with pain and so terribly clear. “Go!” she demands in a dry, brittle version of what once was her voice.
I do cry then. In this moment she is completely my Olivia—whole and real and just as stubborn as she’s ever been.
But I can’t accept this. I can’t leave her to this world after everything that’s happened.
“Let me go, Gwen,” she whispers, her voice like a ragged husk. Her color has all but drained away, and when she speaks, bits of the corners of her mouth crumble, leaving only blackness behind.
I shake my head, even though I know she’s right. There is no way to get her back. The Queen has done too much damage. But I can’t leave her like this. . . .
“Go,” she whispers, her eyes closing as she tries to pull her hand away from me, her skin crumbling beneath my touch.
I don’t have a choice—if I try to keep ahold of her, I’ll hurt her even more—so I let her hand go. “Olivia,” I plead.
But a second after I release her hand, her eyes open again, and the sharpness that had once been there disappears. Her eyes take on that glassy, forgetful look, and when they do, her body relaxes—all panic, all fear, gone.
My body shakes with the sobs I cannot hold back. “I love you, Liv,” I say through my tears. “Whatever happens, I always will.” She blinks up at me, her eyes soft, and I know she doesn’t recognize me. My Olivia is gone. But at least the girl who looks back at me isn’t afraid.
The Dark Ones stir behind me, their wings rustling. The largest of them holds out its great clawed hand. I look once more at Olivia, searching for some other way, but the world around me is already crumbling to dust. Even now I sense the Dark One’s impatience, so without any other choice but to stay and die, I take its hand. And I leave my friend and everything I thought I was behind.
He remembered everything, then. In that frightful moment, his fierce heart broke. . . .
Chapter 40
I WAKE TO THE ICY kiss of snow on my cheek. My hair is damp, and my body aches from its awkward position on the cold ground. In the distance, the sounds of the city wash over me. Above, the stars hold a steady, unflinching vigil. All at once, the memory of what happened and my own bone-deep regret flood through me. And it’s only the sound of a weak, rattling moan nearby that urges me to do something other than give in to the icy cold.
Hours later, when the wailing sirens have stopped and the doctors have decided that I will be okay, my mother finds me. She perches carefully on the edge of the narrow hospital bed, her usually wild red hair tied back in a braid and her face as drawn and tired as I’ve ever seen it. When she sees me stirring, she takes my hand in hers carefully, like I’ll shatter if jostled too much.
“I thought I’d lost you.” Her hands are cool and welcoming as they feel my brow and brush the flopping hair back from my face. “I thought they’d finally won.”