The Shadow Queen (Ravenspire, #1)(67)

It was unbearable.

Releasing the thistle and bone from her shaking fingers, Irina stumbled against the wall and pushed her palm against her aching chest as the truth turned her knees to water.

She’d lost her huntsman. Lorelai had declared war against her when she’d destroyed the northern command outpost. If Lorelai was on her way to the capital, all that stood between Irina and destruction was the web of magic that lay beneath the ground and the strength of Irina’s failing heart.




TWENTY-SEVEN


You beat her. Kol stared at Lorelai, a wild light of triumph in his amber eyes. You beat Irina.

Lorelai stood beside him above the steep banks of the Silber River while Gabril scouted the area around the bend to the west where a massive bridge connected north Ravenspire with the south. Power still gathered in her palms, and she tried to feel triumphant as well. She’d done it. She’d battled the magic that poured out of the collar, and she’d shoved it back toward Irina until it was once again bearable for Kol.

Irina had fought her for him, and Lorelai had won.

She hadn’t been able to remove the collar, but still—she’d won.

Lorelai knew she should be thrilled, but instead she looked away from Kol and sagged slowly onto the damp clumps of river grass that clung to the rocky bank.

Lorelai?

She was stronger. She could beat the queen.

Her chest ached sharply as the truth sliced into her. She could beat the queen, which meant she could’ve saved Leo.

She stared at her hands while grief thickened her throat and shame sank into her heart like a stone.

Why hadn’t she ripped off her gloves at the first sign of Irina? Why hadn’t she stood alone in the street and faced the queen while Leo was safe in the blacksmith’s shop?

She’d been so afraid to reveal herself, so sure it would be the end of everything, and Leo had paid the price.

Wait a minute. Kol knelt on the rocky soil beside her.

He died because we tried everything but magic. She couldn’t look away from her hands. Powerful but useless the one time it really mattered.

Her vision blurred, and a shiver worked its way down her spine.

Lorelai—

If you’re going to tell me that I couldn’t have known I’d be stronger, or that I was right to be afraid of Irina, or some other useless thing that won’t help, please don’t.

It hurt to breathe. To feel the rush of her heartbeat and know that Leo’s heart could still be beating too.

I was going to say that we always know what to do when we look back. I’ve replayed the moment my parents told me they were taking my brother to the war front a hundred times. And every time I find a way to change the outcome. His voice was quiet, but his thoughts were full of the loss that haunted him. I convince them to wait a day. I get expelled earlier so that they have to stay and deal with that. I pretend I’m terribly sick. I run away so that they have to look for me. Anything to keep them from going to the war front. Anything to make the truth something I can bear.

I can’t bear this. The shiver that ran down her spine seized her body, and she trembled, teeth chattering. I can’t bear knowing I could’ve stopped Irina and saved my brother.

I know you can’t, but you don’t have to bear it alone.

He sat quietly beside her, his thoughts an open invitation for her to see what he bore alone. How the weight of his responsibility and fear was crushing him. How he understood the terrible wound of hindsight and what it took to keep moving forward because that was the only road left open.

Something hot and feral churned through Lorelai. Magic sparked and burned in her hands, and she curled them into fists and pounded them against the ground until the skin broke and bled. She wanted to tear the world into pieces. She wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear.

She wanted her brother.

She was crying, choking on her tears. On the truth.

You aren’t alone.

She leaned against him, the warmth of the dragon’s fire in his chest chasing the chill from her skin. He wrapped his arms around her, his hold gentle, his thoughts full of confidence that she could keep moving forward when she was ready. And that she wouldn’t do so alone.

She cried until the shame and grief had emptied out of her. Until she felt hollowed out from her head to her toes and exhausted in a way that felt permanent.

When she grew quiet, she realized that he was still on his knees, the rocky ground cutting into his skin. That the air had grown damp and cold, and he’d shifted his body to block the worst of it from touching her. She was suddenly, agonizingly aware that she’d practically crawled into his lap, and that she’d soaked the front of his shirt.

Nothing in Gabril’s lessons on ladylike conversation was remotely helpful in knowing what to say next.

You don’t have to say anything at all.

That was nice of you, she said even though nice wasn’t the right word. He’d understood her grief, and he was the last place she’d expected to find peace.

Can I ask you something? His eyes met hers, steady and certain, while the wind tugged at his wild hair.

She saw the question forming in his thoughts, but was too weary to flinch.

Who killed Leo?

Her thoughts were a maelstrom of images and pain. Running over catwalks, Leo in her wake. Irina shouting an incantor. Monstrous vines exploding across the sky and hurtling toward the ground. Her gloves on as she desperately pulled Leo to the gate while his veins turned black and his heart stopped.