Episode 3
1104 Words
I couldn't breathe properly.
Not because of what she'd said. Because of how calmly she'd said it.
Your father.
The words refused to fit inside my head. They collided with every question I'd asked myself since I was old enough to understand what an orphan was. I had imagined him a thousand different ways. Dead. Gone. Cruel or maybe a coward.
I had never once imagined he was someone my mother feared.
I looked from Seraphine to the ravens circling above us. Then back again.
"You expect me to believe this?"
"I expect you to survive."
"Those aren't the same thing."
"No. They're not." The honesty in her answer made me angrier than another lie would have.
"So everything I've ever believed about my life is wrong?" She didn't answer. Because she couldn't. Because it was.
"I grew up thinking nobody wanted me."
"I know."
"I celebrated birthdays by wishing strangers would remember my name."
"I know."
"I kept wondering what I'd done wrong before I was even old enough to walk."
Her eyes filled. "I know."
"No." My voice cracked. "You don't. If you did..." I swallowed hard. "...you would've come."
For a moment the queen disappeared. Only a mother remained.
"I wanted to."
"I don't care what you wanted." The words came out sharper than I intended. "I care about what you did."
She lowered her head. "I deserve that."
Silence settled between us. Not comfortable. Not healing. Just heavy.
I became aware, without wanting to, that the man standing beside the car had not moved during any of this. Not when my voice cracked. Not when Seraphine's eyes filled. He was still watching the street, still positioned exactly where he'd placed himself, but something about the set of his shoulders had changed slightly. Tighter, maybe. Like he was working to stay where he was.
I didn't look at him directly. I wasn't sure why.
A sharp metallic sound sliced through the street.
He pressed two fingers against a small device in his ear. His expression changed immediately.
"Your Majesty." His voice was low. Urgent. "We've been located."
Seraphine closed her eyes. "So soon..."
"They crossed the eastern boundary less than two minutes ago."
My heartbeat stumbled. "What boundary?"
Neither of them answered. He was already scanning the rooftops. The street. The crowds. His hand rested under his coat. Not casually but ready.
People continued walking around us. Buying coffee. Crossing the road. Checking their phones. None of them seemed to notice the fear spreading across the faces of the people standing in front of me.
"What exactly is happening?"
Seraphine looked at me. "I promised I'd tell you the truth." She took one careful breath. "So listen carefully. And listen fast."
"You are Lyra Noelle Ashbourne."
"I gathered that much."
"You are the daughter of the ruling bloodline of Lunaris." The name meant nothing to me.
"Ninety seconds," he said, not looking away from the street.
Seraphine didn't slow down. "You were born beneath the Blood Moon."
I frowned. "And that's supposed to mean something?"
"It means you were never supposed to survive the night you were born."
The wind stopped. Completely. Even the ravens froze in their circles overhead. My pendant warmed again. Only slightly. Just enough for me to notice.
"On the night you were born," Seraphine said, "the kingdom fell."
"Sixty seconds."
I barely heard it. My whole body was still catching up to what she'd just said.
"The kingdom?"
"Our enemies came to the throne. And for you."
"Why?"
"Because prophecies are dangerous, and you are one."
I stared at her, the word still landing somewhere inside me, it had no business being.
Before I could ask what that meant, the pendant flared. Not bright. Briefly like a warning.
His head snapped toward the end of the street.
"They're here." This time I heard it too. Not footsteps. Not engines.
Howling.
Far away. But getting closer. A sound that didn't belong anywhere near a city. The hairs on my arms stood up. Every instinct screamed one thing.
Run.
Seraphine reached for my hand. This time I didn't pull away. Not because I trusted her. Because something inside me trusted the fear on her face.
"Lyra." Her voice was steady now. "If you come with me, I'll answer every question."
"And if I don't?"
She didn't hesitate. "You won't live long enough to ask another."
The rear door of the sedan swung open. He was already holding it, one hand on the roof, the other still watching the street.
"Thirty seconds."
"Thirty?" I repeated.
He looked at the intersection. Then at me. Just briefly. Just long enough for something to pass between us that I didn't have a name for yet.
"Less," he said quietly.
It was the first time he'd spoken directly to me. Not to Seraphine. Not to the street. To me. Two syllables. Nothing in them that should have mattered.
I don't know why they did.
The first howl echoed again. Closer. Much closer.
People finally began looking around. A woman paused beside a café. A cyclist slowed. Somewhere nearby, a flock of pigeons exploded into the sky all at once.
The air itself felt wrong. Like the city was holding its breath.
I looked back toward the orphanage one last time. It stood exactly where I'd left it. Ordinary. Small. Safe. The only home I'd ever known.
If I got into that car there was no coming back. Not like the girl who had walked out of those gates that morning.
I tightened my grip on the straps of my backpack.
Then I looked at him one more time. Standing at the open door. Waiting. Not pushing. Not reaching for me. Just there. Steady in a way, the entire street had stopped being.
I climbed in.
He closed the door behind me with a quiet, deliberate sound. Not a slam. The kind of careful that meant something, though I couldn't have said what.
Seraphine followed. The car lurched forward before her door had fully closed.
For one brief second, I caught sight of the pavement through the rear window. The place where we'd been standing was already empty. Except for three black feathers drifting slowly to the ground.
I watched them until the car turned the corner and they disappeared.
Then I faced forward.
He was in the passenger seat. I could see the line of his jaw from where I sat, the way his eyes moved between the mirrors and the road ahead, scanning constantly, never settling.
I looked away before he could catch me watching. It took longer than it should have.
- Writer
