I shot her a look. “Making other people happy is not the right reason to marry someone, Lily.”
She gave a half-hearted shrug. “Roderyck isn’t so bad. His House is small, but they’re growing fast, and they have business dealings in almost every realm. An alliance with them will be good for House Corbois. And then Luther won’t have to worry about me anymore, and Father won’t be so angry with him or with you. And Teller…”
Her voice faded. Her chin tipped down to hide her face.
“You can help the family in other ways,” I said gently. “After you finish school, you can be my advisor. You could even continue healer training here.”
She shook her head. “If I decline, he might choose Eleanor to marry Roderyck. Why should she have to take my place?”
My hands clenched around my mother’s journals. “No Corbois woman is getting forced into marriage while I live and breathe.”
“We’re not being forced.” Her tone had grown uncharacteristically defensive. “We’re simply raised to do what’s best for the family. If I tell my father no, he’ll respect it. This is my choice.”
I couldn’t help the roll of my eyes. “Are you sure? Because he—”
“Yes, I’m sure,” Lily huffed. She let out a frustrated sigh. “You’re so much like my brother.”
I balked, unsure whether to take that as a compliment or an insult.
“You both mean well,” she said, “and you both want to protect me. But have either of you asked if I want to be protected?”
I started to bite back a response, then stopped myself. Lily’s innate sweetness made it easy to see her as a child, innocent and defenseless against the unforgiving reality of the world, but that was far from the truth. She was clever and incredibly perceptive. She understood how Descended society worked much better than I did. And she was capable of making her own decisions—even if I didn’t like them.
“Perhaps this isn’t everything I want,” she went on, “but you did not want to be Queen, either. You accepted your role, and I can choose to accept mine.”
I set down my notes and joined her at her side, leaning against the worktop with my elbows. “I understand,” I sighed. “Truly, I do. But there is another reason.”
Lily’s eyebrows inched upward.
I traced the chipped wood of the worktable to avoid her stare. I had hoped to not have to share these particular fears that had been haunting me of late. They revealed too much that I was not yet ready to admit.
“If I do not survive the Challenging,” I said slowly, “and Luther becomes King, he will need you. He will need to keep those he trusts close, and there is no one he trusts more than you. If you have left to join House Byrnum…”
I knew from the distress written on her face that I didn’t have to finish. The idea of not being there for her beloved brother when he needed her most—if there was anything that might change Lily’s mind, it was that.
“I will never condemn you for anything you freely choose, Lily. I only ask that you give yourself time to discover who you’re meant to be. One month ago, I was a poor, unknown mortal healer, and now I am Queen. And perhaps next month…” I gave her a sad smile. “No one can predict what the gods have in store.”
Lily looked down at her hands, chewing on her lip in silence.
“Wait just a little longer, that’s all I ask,” I urged. “For Luther, if not for yourself.”
Silence stretched out between us. I set my palm on her hand in a wordless show of support before moving to return to my work.
“You still care about him?” she asked softly.
I halted in place and winced. “Lily…”
“He’s in a dark place, too, you know. Just like you. He’s devastated. I’ve never seen him so sad. He feels like he let you down, and if he lets you down then he’s letting everyone down, because he thinks you—”
“Lily, please, this is between me and Luther.”
“You’re so much more alike than you realize. If you only knew, if he would only—”
“Lily.” I slumped into my chair, then snatched another of my mother’s journals and loudly flipped it open. “Back to work.”
“Do you hate him?”
My face whipped toward hers. Her midnight blue eyes were round and glittering with unshed tears.
“No,” I whispered. “I don’t.”
“Has he lost you forever?”
This time, I didn’t answer.
With Alixe glued to my brother’s side and Luther having vanished without explanation, my magic training was now—gods help me—solely in Taran’s hands.
Though weeks with no progress had left us both cranky, he had refused my begging to call off our session, so we’d compromised on sparring the mortal way—with fists and swords. It would do me no good at the Challenging, but it had become my one outlet for the grim, rotting emotions poisoning me from the inside out.
Unlike Alixe and Luther, who always softened their attacks for fear of injuring their Queen, Taran never held back, and I loved him for it. I threw my bottled-up rage and self-destruction into every swing, and he returned each one with equal force. It left both of us bruised, limping, and exhausted, but little by little, I felt the darkness beginning to give way.
“Fine, I admit it, you are a good fighter,” Taran said with a grunt after I’d clocked him across the chin. “Good thing, since you’re so shit at using magic.”
He lunged to clip me with his sword, barely missing as I spun out of reach. “You’re a good opponent,” I said. “Good thing, since you’re so shit at teaching magic.”
He feinted to the left and barked a laugh as I swerved to miss the non-existent attack, then caught me with the point of his blade right in the soft hollow of my back.
I whimpered and clutched the tender spot. “Fine. I deserved that.”
He pointed the sword accusingly. “Don’t blame my teaching for you holding back on your magic.”
“We’ve been through this,” I groaned. “I’m not holding back. I’ve tried everything, Taran. I don’t know why it won’t answer me.”
“I do.”
I arched an eyebrow. He leaned on his blade like a cane, looking smug and self-satisfied.
“Are you going to tell me?” I pushed.
“You don’t want to hear it.”
“That never stopped you before.”
He snorted, then tossed his sword to the side, letting it clatter to the ground. “Land another punch and I’ll tell you.”
I threw my blade down and cracked my knuckles with a devious smile.
We both fell into a fighting posture, fists raised to our chins as we circled each other with matching sets of narrowed eyes.
Taran was indeed a good fighter. A great fighter, in fact. He’d been trained extensively in every aspect of defense, from magic to weapons to physical combat, and unlike most men his size, he rarely relied on his brawn to gain the upper hand.
But for all his prowess, Taran also had one glaring weakness.
“Any day now,” he taunted, spinning smoothly on his heels as I bobbed around him.