“Luci, I’m so sorry,” Ira whispered.
It didn’t matter if he was sorry. All that mattered was Brielle, who was cold and lifeless in her arms. It’s all she had now.
The world ended for Lucinda Blackthorn. Insurmountable grief claimed what might have been, but never could be.
“Wait-” Lucien said, his voice thick with grief.
Wait indeed. Wait. Wait. Wait.
“Her lips,” Noah said, coming over.
“Don’t touch her!” Luci growled out.
“Luci, she’s- there is color in her lips again,” Ira said.
It didn’t matter. The blood would pull, but as long as her chest remained still, there was nothing left.
Just a fraction, almost imaginary, Luci’s arms lifted where they were wrapped around Brielle’s chest. A dream. A figment of an imagination in the throes of grief.
“It worked.” Ira breathed.
It didn’t. He was blind to hope and fairy tales.
But then, with her head tucked into Brielle’s neck, she felt it- the beat of her heart. A sound she knew better than any other. A sound she’d memorized for countless nights.
“It worked.” Noah agreed, and there was joy in there.
Her arms lifted again, this time with more force.
“Luci, it worked. It worked!” Ira said beside her.
Gently, he lifted her chin off from Brielle, and she fought to hold on, never to be torn away, but when he said the words again, she saw what he saw.
Color flooded Brielle’s pale skin that had been white in death. Her chest was rising with no rattle to be heard. Every lift of her chest has more purpose. Cinnamon burned the air around them.
“How?” Lady Treveon cried. “Stephen, look- look!”
Luci counted the breaths. One, two, three, four, five, six- clear as day.
She lifted her eyes, blurry and heavy, to Ira.
“We did it,” she whispered.
His smile was the sun. “We did it.”
Luci knew down to her bones one thing to be true from that moment on until her dying breath. Magic was real, and sometimes wishes came true.
Chapter thirty
To Believe
There was a girl who believed too much and wished too often. And in the end, the world was better for it.
-The Whispered Tales of Blythe
Sunset painted pink and orange over Brielle’s bed as if it wanted to linger with her a little longer. The moon forced it down to rest till morning came. Luci lay next to her best friend, watching Brielle’s chest rise and fall over and over. It was the same thing she’d done since returning the night before.
People came and went, Noah to administer more of the flower’s tonic, Lucien, to sit and watch Brielle breathe with Luci, Ira to try to convince Luci to step away to take care of herself, Lord Treveon to make sure it wasn’t all a dream, though he always left with thin lips and none of his spiteful words. In fact, he hadn’t said one word to Luci since the moment Brielle started breathing once more. Lady Margaret came twice to press a kiss to Brielle and Luci’s foreheads and to tell Luci she did a wonderful job. Once Max stopped by, but he complained that sick people made him weary, and he left. Sometimes, after having no luck convincing her, Ira would send in Gladys to try, but no force on land or sea could have pried Luci away from Brielle after almost losing her.