Page 8

“Fya.”

Fire engulfed the obelisk, coiling around until it hit the sharp, pointed tip. Heat licked her skin but the flames remained steady—contained. Thicket’s shoulders sagged, the start of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She had done it.

Only when she stepped back did she notice the fire wasn’t blue.

It was purple.

A resounding screech filled the sky right before the world went dark. Thicket’s neck craned upward to see a roiling mass of fluttering black block out the remaining dregs of twilight seeping through the wall’s dome.

Ravens, an entire unkindness of them.

Thicket knew she should move, but she couldn’t tear her eyes from the ravens as they dove. The crowd screamed, throwing their hands over their heads as small, white flecks fell from their open talons. Thicket’s world tilted as a heavy weight forced her to the ground. She gasped, looking up to see Marcellus leaning over her, arms protectively caging either side of her head.

“Are you hurt?” he demanded, his dark brown eyes searching her face, expression nothing more than a series of tense lines.

Thicket couldn’t muster a response, not as she caught a glimpse of the white substance from behind his shoulder. The flecks fluttered to the ground like snow, but as they hit Thicket’s lips, she tasted salt.

A scream ripped from the crowd. Thicket and Marcellus whipped their heads in unison. From a gap in his arms, Thicket watched as each and every one of the flames engulfing the torches turned purple. Shocked gasps flooded the Plaza. Torches clattered to the ground, rolling until the flames flickered out. The sparks that had once showered the Plaza with life and color were now extinguished, leaving smoke to dance in the wake of the light.

Fury burned Thicket’s eyes, slipping all the way down to her throat.

Lavender.

How did she always know?

Wherever Thicket went, whatever she did, Lavender was always one step ahead. Did Thicket even pose a threat to her sister, or was she simply a plaything in her twisted game?

The crowd recovered from their shock before Thicket, their voices blending together in a chorus of panic. She could barely make out their words until someone shouted, “Look!”

Marcellus stood, positioning himself in front of her, sword drawn as one of the ravens separated from the unkindness, soaring down to perch at the charred tip of the obelisk. Only, it wasn’t a raven.

It was a blue jay.

“I hope you don’t mind my intrusion.” Lavender’s voice slithered into the Plaza, a malicious serenade that turned Thicket’s very blood to stone. “I just thought the Pyre should be lit by Vindrya’s true queen.”

The blue jay’s marble black eyes found Thicket. Despite having never met Lavender, she could envision her all too well as she spoke through the bird. Draped across the throne, her long, perfect hair barely concealing glossy lips that curled into a wicked smile.

“I see the gesture was… unappreciated.” The blue jay’s eyes shifted back to the crowd, dismissing Thicket entirely. “Last time we spoke, I asked you which side you are on: mine, or Thicket’s. Needless to say, I was disappointed to see not a single letter in response. Usually you are so adamant about your choice. Is this perhaps because you are doubting your precious princess?”

The crowd didn’t dare move. Thicket was sure no one even dared to breathe.

“Silence? Again?” Lavender’s voice dipped into dangerous territory, making the hairs on Thicket’s arms stand on end. “Perhaps you keep mistaking my questions as rhetorical, so here is a demand instead. Either choose me as your Queen and turn Thicket over to me, or be prepared to face my full wrath.”

The crowd took a collective step back. The sight was enough to force Thicket’s body into motion. She launched to her feet, flinging her arm out as she yelled, “Fya!”

A column of blue hurtled for the jay. Feathers ripped from the bird as it shot into the sky, narrowly avoiding her flames.

“You have one week to decide,” Lavender said before the blue jay rejoined the unkindness and vanished into the night.

Thicket stood amidst the torrent of feathers, heart chained to the base of her throat as she faced the crowd. All eyes were on her, scrutinizing her every breath, every shift. Where there had once been reverence, there was now hesitation. Her chest tightened, fists balling at her sides before going limp.

The week Lavender had given them wasn’t a mercy.

It was just more time for Thicket to prove how incompetent she really was.

She had tried the last few days to right her wrongs. To prove that despite not having her memories, she was enough to save them. But it hadn’t been enough.

She is but a broken doll, trying to use this as a way to piece herself back together again.