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My arrow strikes true, and an explosion of light and shadows and stardust bursts in the sky. A seismic rush of wind erupts around me, rolling over the battlefield like ripples from a stone thrown into a quiet pond. The clash of swords stops, and the screech of fae and creatures alike turns into a confused hush.

Sira’s creations may not be good by nature, but at least now they have their own free will. If the battle continues, let it be their choice.

A rush of dizziness overtakes me, and I fall to my knees, shards of the rose raining down around me. A strange gasp sounds. I look beside me.

It’s the Queen of the Below, eyes open, chest heaving with labored breaths.

It’s the Queen of the Below. Dying.

62

Caspian

My briars whip me across the carnage. Thankfully, most of Sira’s army is too confused with their newfound freedom to form an attack. The battlefield has turned into clusters of defensive positions. I continue over the moat and onto the ground before the remains of Castletree.

Rosalina staggers toward me, her rose-gold armor glittering with all the colors of moonlight, starlight, and the breaking dawn. She’s alive. She’s alive. I wasn’t sure she’d be able to hold so much power…

When Keldarion led the armies of the Vale into weaving their spirit tethers with Rosalina’s, I’d known it was a madcap idea. But we princes have never shied away from those. Simply the power washing over me, the hundreds of spirits brushing with mine…

Rosalina took that all. Took it in her own heart and channeled it through Castletree.

And then…the rose.

She could have seized my mother’s armies for herself. But her strength has always been her compassion.

“Princess.” I grab her in my arms, and she all but collapses into me. My hands are everywhere, on her face, her lips, her ears, her hair. Making sure she’s still here. “Are you okay—” I begin, but her solemn expression silences me. She motions with her chin over her shoulder.

I look behind her.

Oh.

It’s my mother.

“You can go to her,” Rosalina says softly. “She’s not dangerous. Not anymore.”

I don’t remember making the decision to drift toward my mother, but I do.

She looks a little thing, lying in the soft dirt. Breakable. For a moment, she seems peaceful.

How often had I dreamt of this? Sneaking in beside my mother to find her asleep, her face serene, lost in a lovely dream? Dreams I long realized were never to be.

The moment of peace passes as her chest heaves, and she lets out a pained breath. Her eyes flutter open and land on me.

“Caspian…” Her hand strains to reach for me.

So it is possible. The Queen of the Below can die. What accomplished in the end something my sister and I only ever fantasized about? Had she put too many fragments of herself into the rose, and its shattering broke her apart?

Or was her heart not as strong as Rosalina’s? When Rosalina channeled all the spirit tethers into Castletree, was the bond between the three of them too much?

I suppose it doesn’t matter now.

My mother is dying.

I sink to my knees beside her, then gently lift her up and cradle her in my arms. It seems to soothe her, and her breathing calms.

I don’t do it for her. I do it for me.

A crowd has gathered around us. I can sense the princes’ and Anya’s presence without looking up. That must mean the fight has stopped—or calmed enough that they were able to step away.