Tale of the Heart Queen (Artefacts of Ouranos #4)

Chapter 44

C HAPTER 44

LOR

Q UEENDOM OF H EART

W illow squeezes my hand so tight that my fingers are going numb. I knew this would be hard, but I’m here to guide them every step of the way.

Tristan and I share a careful look.

Things didn’t go according to plan the last time we were here. If Rion is anywhere near Heart, then we’ll probably know soon enough. Etienne and Mael scouted the area, and I don’t want to be a jerk, but the last time Etienne assured me everything was safe, it wasn’t.

Still, I have my magic and Nadir and Amya are watching over us. Plus, Tristan grows stronger with every passing day.

“It’s . . .” Willow whispers. “It must have been beautiful.”

“I said the same thing,” I reply.

We continue walking, picking over the ruined sidewalks and past the crumbling walls. When I was here with Nadir, we were so focused on finding the Crown, and I was so overwhelmed that I didn’t have the chance to really study this place.

I see the outlines of a building that might have been a shop once and another structure with a partially collapsed curved dome on top, as well as narrow buildings that might have been houses at one time. We walk through a plaza with a statue planted in the center, the top half long gone, leaving only the bottom of a woman’s dress.

“Who do you think it was?” Tristan asks, catching the direction of my gaze.

“Amara,” I say. I don’t know why, and maybe it isn’t, but I like the idea of the first Queen of Heart standing watch. The Empyrium said the first rulers of Ouranos were good kings and queens, and I need a role model more inspiring than my grandmother.

We continue walking, taking in the relics of our grandparents’ ruin. Interspersed between everything are vines and roses. The contrast between life and death, between the past and a possible future, makes my chest tight.

Finally we reach the castle wall and pass into the crumbling courtyard. I note the spot where Nadir and I stood when he said the roses started to grow for me. The same spot where I looked at him and knew I was already falling.

Hand in hand, we stand at the base of the castle, peering up at its jagged spires and the once white stone now grey and mottled by history .

“You okay?” I ask Willow, and she nods, though I can tell she’s putting on a brave face.

“This is . . . harder than I thought it would be. You know?”

“I know,” I say and squeeze her hand.

We enter the castle and walk down the hall in single file. This was where Rion’s soldiers entered, finding us in the throne room after that night when I screamed at Nadir that I would never be his. I can smile at the memory now as I peer over my shoulder. Even if I can’t see him, I know he’s there, just beyond the walls, watching after me.

The reminder of our somewhat rocky relationship makes me think of Tristan.

“How did you leave things with Nerissa?” I ask my brother, whose eyebrows climb up his forehead. He bends down to pick up a stone before tossing it, then catching it in his hand.

“It wasn’t serious. We agreed to leave it open-ended for now. I don’t know if I’m ever going back.” He pins me and Willow with a serious look. “Right?”

“Maybe,” I say.

“It was just nice to feel something.” He pauses and then adds, “It’s been a long time.”

Willow and I exchange a look. While fewer female prisoners lived inside Nostraza, Tristan also had his fair share of flings.

“Remember Seraphina?” I ask, and Tristan snorts.

“How could I forget?” He shakes his head at the memory of the mortal woman who swept into Nostraza when Tristan was nineteen. She was almost twice his age, and she had been stunning before Nostraza did what it does to everyone.

She oozed charisma, and Tristan spent the better part of six months following her around like a lovesick puppy. Eventually, like all prisoners in Nostraza, she succumbed to the cumulative weight of its environment, and Tristan moped around the prison for another good six months.

“She practically made me a man,” he sighs wistfully. “The things she taught me . . .”

“Gross,” Willow and I both chorus, and he grins as we continue walking.

What Tristan had with Seraphina or anyone who came before or after was never love. It was lust and release. Something to cling to in the bleakness of our days. I remember that feeling all too well.

“You will feel that again,” I say to Tristan. “If it’s not Nerissa, then it will be someone else. Gods help me, I will make sure you do.”

He presses his mouth together. “I’m not sure I’m ready anyway. I need time to sort out everything up here.” He points to his forehead, and I nod, understanding exactly what he means.

“This way,” I say, turning left, preparing to save the throne room as our last stop. I lead them through the charred hallways as crumbled brick and mortar crunch beneath our boots.

“I’ll be honest, there isn’t much to see,” I say. “Most of it looks like this. Nadir and I explored nearly every inch when we were looking for the Crown, but there is something I think you’ll both like.”

Willow is rubbing her chest, making a strange face.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “I feel weird.”

“Weird how?” I ask .

“I don’t know. I’m sure it’s nothing. I shouldn’t have skipped lunch—I’m a bit lightheaded.”

“Are you okay?” Tristan asks. “We can always come back later.”

“Absolutely not. I’m fine.” She gestures to me. “Lead the way.”

I give her one more skeptical look.

“Come on. Seriously, it’s nothing,” she says.

“Okay.” I take them to the library, where the portraits of our grandparents hang.

“Here,” I say, leading them into the room. “Turn around.”

We all do at the same time, and once again, the sight takes my breath away.

Our grandparents stand on either side of the door, larger than life, rendered in paint by a carefully skilled hand.

Neither of my siblings says anything as they stare at the portraits.

“They’re incredible,” Willow eventually breathes. “She was so beautiful.”

“She looks just like you,” I say, and Willow smiles.

“And our grandfather,” she says. “He looks . . . kind.”

“He does,” I agree, remembering I thought the same thing.

Tristan’s jaw is hard as he stares at the portraits, still saying nothing.

Willow and I give him a moment as we both move closer. Willow stands under Serce, the Heart Queen who broke the world, looking up. Last time, I’d been too full of emotion to remain here long—but now I study my grandmother’s face, looking for signs of who she might have been.

She loved her family and her home. She loved her mate so much that she had been willing to do anything. I consider my own actions and wonder if I’m in any position to judge her. I’ve been tearing through Ouranos, leaving my own path of destruction. And now I’m also planning to bond with my mate whatever the consequences.

After another minute, I look back at Tristan, but he still hasn’t moved. He just stares at the portraits silently, something passing behind his expression that I think I recognize.

“Tris, you okay?” I ask finally. “Tris?”

He looks at me as though he’d forgotten we were here.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.” He tears his gaze away from the portraits. “What else should we see?”

He’s clearly not fine, but I won’t push him. We can discuss this later, when he’s had time to digest everything.

“The throne room,” I say. “This way.”

We wind our way through the castle. We were here for only two days last time, but I remember every corner like they’re tattooed into my memories. How can anyone say that I don’t belong here?

We step inside and come to a stop. It’s even more overwhelming than I remember.

I look around, noting the evidence of the battle with Rion—shattered stone littering the floor where he fired his magic. In the middle of the room lie the traces of the night Nadir and I spent talking and staring up at the sky. Even the small circle of stones where we lit a fire remains.

“What happened here?” Tristan asks, pointing at the pile of rubble behind the thrones .

“That’s where we found the Crown,” I say. “It was behind that wall.”

I glance over at Willow, who’s staring around the room with her lips parted. She looks a little pale and keeps rubbing her chest. We really should get her something to eat. We’ll stay here another few minutes and then head back to the manor. It’s getting late, and we could all use some sleep.

Tristan stares at the twin thrones, and I’m not sure which of my siblings needs me the most right now. They’re both having very different reactions—ones I might have predicted. Willow all wide-eyed wonder in her endless optimism, and Tristan with his more practical and cynical outlook. As much as I love Willow, Tristan and I have always been two peas in a pod.

Willow’s gaze traces the roses that spiral up the pillars and clamor across the ceiling. Are there more than the last time? It’s hard to tell, but I think so.

“The roses,” Willow says. “I know you told me about them, but Lor—” She cuts off and stops. “This is all so much bigger than we ever imagined, isn’t it?”

Tristan and I watch as she scans her surroundings, a tear slipping down her cheek. She scrubs it away with the back of her hand.

“I wish they could have told us,” Willow says. She looks over at me and Tristan as my brother runs a hand over his head.

“I’m angry with them,” he says, and the words sound like a confession he’s been clinging to for a long time. “I didn’t want to say anything, but I’m so fucking angry with them.”

“Tris—” Willow says .

He shakes his head and then rubs his chest. “I miss them so goddamn much. I wish more than anything I could have seen Mother too, but fuck, I’m so furious they left us to deal with all of this on our own.”

“They had no choice,” Willow says.

“I don’t mean that . I know they didn’t. They could have told us. They had to know someone might find out their secrets one day. They just . . . didn’t tell us.”

Tristan paces back and forth, inhaling deep, ragged breaths. While I’ve been bewildered and confused by their choices, I also didn’t know our parents like Tristan did. I don’t remember them the way he does.

“And those people!” he shouts, gesturing towards the library. “Our grandparents! How could they have been so stupid and selfish? How could they have done this to us!”

“Tris . . .” I say.

“No! I’m so fucking mad! Okay? I know Willow can see the bright side in anything, and Lor, you’re dealing with all of this with a lot more maturity than I am because I am so fucking pissed, and I can’t keep quiet about it anymore!”

He spreads his arms, looking left and right.

“This could have all been ours. This life. This place. And not just us. All of those people out there. They left us with nothing! They left everyone with nothing ! They just took what they fucking wanted and didn’t care!”

His voice bounces off the stone, echoing in the space with the pain in his words. I agree with every single thing he’s said.

“We could have grown up with our parents! With our family! We could have had a life that wasn’t just existing with secrets. We wouldn’t have spent twelve fucking years in that prison, barely clinging to that pathetic excuse for a life.

“And Lor! Lor—you wouldn’t have been forced into those Trials. You wouldn’t have been forced to do all of this! You found your mate, and now you’re going to lose him, and I might not like him all that much, but you seem to really love him, and fuck , all I’ve ever wanted is you both to be happy!”

With his hands on his hips, he spins away, and I watch his shoulders heave, feeling the heat of his frustration burning the backs of my eyes.

Willow and I allow him a moment to stew in his anger as we trade worried glances. Our brother has always been our rock. Our safe place to land when life in Nostraza became too much.

He looks up and keeps pacing as a tear drips from the end of his nose. He sniffles and wipes it away. It’s been a very long time since I’ve seen my brother come undone.

Willow and I exchange another look that becomes a silent signal, and we both move, planting ourselves on either side of him. He stops short when he realizes I’m in his way.

“What—”

I throw my arms around his waist, and Willow does the same from behind. It takes him a moment to realize what we’re doing, but when he does, he curls into us and just . . . lets go .

I feel the drain of his heart. The strain in his sobs. The release of a thousand emotions and worries and hurts he’s been burying for a very long time.

We clutch one another, holding on in this ruined place that should have been our home. Willow and I start crying too, the sound of our sorrow echoing in the dusty, forgotten corners of Heart.

But then the strangest thing happens.

It takes me a moment to notice it. It’s an odd sound—something stretching and squeezing, snapping and crackling like twigs underfoot. And then I see it. Vines covered in rosebuds creep across the ground like snakes, stretching towards us. The sight should be alarming, but something tells me we have nothing to worry about.

They crawl closer, then stop a few feet away and peel off the ground. Tristan and Willow have noticed now, and we all pull apart. More vines climb up the pillars around the room and up every wall, coating them in curtains of green. They continue climbing, stretching over the ceiling, filling every corner and every recess.

The vines around us form an arch over our heads, and then everything starts to bloom. Buds expand over every inch of the vine, unfurling in scarlet bursts, petals spreading out like they’re greeting the morning sun.

They open in a wave until we’re surrounded—until every surface is a blooming tapestry of brilliant red roses. Tristan, Willow, and I stare at each other wide-eyed, unable to comprehend the sight.

It’s then I notice another vine creeping across the floor, inching towards Willow. She inhales a sharp breath, but I’m still sure that no one needs to be afraid.

Slowly, it crawls closer and then gently winds its way around her ankle.

“Lor,” she whispers .

“It’s okay,” I assure her. “I think it’s okay.”

The vine climbs higher, circling around her knee and then her thigh. Willow holds completely still, her eyes never leaving it.

“Willow—” Tristan says, about to reach for her, but I stop him.

“Don’t,” I say. “It’s . . . fine.”

He knows I would never let anything happen to her, so he nods and stands back as the vine crawls up Willow’s legs and hips then circles her torso and travels down the length of her arm. She watches it, her gaze steady as the rose-covered tendril winds around her fingers. Willow lifts her hand, pointing it towards the sky.

We all wait, suspended in this moment, wondering what new revelation is about to change our reality yet again.

Willow rubs her chest as a spear of red lightning drops from the sky, exploding against her hand. She screams, and I scream, and Tristan yells in surprise.

When it’s over, she stands unharmed.

She lowers her hand, her fingers spread wide as she stares at her palm. The vine then unwinds back in the other direction before it melds with the others.

“What just happened?” I ask, but I think I already know.

We bestowed the first threads of magic on you and your siblings.

“Was that . . .?” Tristan adds.

“Magic,” I say as footsteps pound down the corridor and Nadir and Amya appear at the door.

“We saw Lor’s lightning,” Nadir says. “Is everything okay?”

“It wasn’t me,” I say. “It was Willow.”