Page 158 of War Queen
“Grandmother,” she whispered.
Norah reached out and took Catherine’s hand. But it was cold, void of spirit.
Void of life.
She dropped it as she sucked in a breath. A cry escaped her lips, and she covered her mouth with her hand.
No, not yet.She wasn’t ready.
She sank down onto the bed beside Catherine’s body as sobs shook her.
She wasn’t ready.
Chapter thirty-nine
Norahlayacrossherbed, staring up at the ceiling. Three days had passed, but it felt like both an hour and a year. Time had fallen apart. That morning she’d watched as her grandmother was sealed in the Hall of Souls. As important as it was, everything was a blur. All she could remember was Catherine’s face: pale and hollow, a shell of the spirit she’d been. How did one so strong just waste away? The image would haunt her.
She couldn’t believe her grandmother was gone. Now what would she do? She couldn’t be queen without her. She didn’t want to be queen without her. And now what? How was she supposed to do everything on her own—look after Mercia, be salara of Kharav, stop this war…
She bolted up.
Lucien.
They left their last conversation on a somewhat uneasy note, and she hadn’t called him since. In the chaos, she’d completely forgotten. He must think… What must he think? She jumped off the bed. She was in no mind for conversation, but she couldn’t let all the progress with Lucien fall apart.
Down in the stairwell, she stopped a moment to catch her breath.Calmly.Calmly. She didn’t want to show up to a conversation with Lucien unsettled, and she forced in a deep inhale before pushing it out of her lungs completely. She hadn’t brought a lantern in her hurry, and she fumbled with the top of the vial. With shaky hands, she drew a smear of blood across her palm.
Be calm, she told herself again, and she clenched her fist closed.
Her mind was quiet.
“I thought you might not invite me again,” came his voice all around her.
He didn’t light the darkness, and she couldn’t see him.
“I thought you might be angry,” he said, “but now… I see. I see your sorrow.”
She hadn’t planned to tell him about Catherine, but she supposed she couldn’t keep it from him. Not when he was inside her mind. Did he see everything?
The darkness faded, and he stood at the foot of the stair. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
She felt sorry too, but for what? For her own sorrow? For the time it took to call him again? Her mind churned for words, and still she found herself without them.
He offered his hand. She stared at it for a moment, then took it and stepped down beside him. He didn’t release her. Instead, he pulled her hand into the fold of his arm and led them down the darkness of the tunnel. The stone walls fell away, and they walked through a field in the night. Around them flashed the luminescence of fireflies.
He led her to a bench beside a bubbling stream. The dark gave way to light, like the dawn before the sun, and they sat.
Perhaps it was against the laws of nature to share one’s sorrow with the enemy, but here, it felt… not wrong.
“I can’t believe she’s gone,” she whispered.
Lucien looked at her, his eyes carrying a sorrow in return. He didn’t reply.
“How cruel death is,” she said, her voice shaking. “I spoke harshly to her before, over something… sostupid, and I didn’t even get a chance to make it right.” She sniffed. “Death took the chance to tell her I was sorry, the chance to tell her goodbye.”
He sat quietly, simply listening.
“She looked so fragile in her bed,” she told him. “And I tried to remember her as she was before, but even that seems to be taken from me.” Everything was being taken from her.
