CW: This chapter contains depictions of grief and intentional injury.[1]
"I'm sorry."
The room engulfed them in a windowless dome lined in massive bricks of grey stone. The room carried the heavy scent of moisture with a thin layer of moss that seemed to crawl further along the walls with every glance. It stretched across the floors, over blooming flowers and around grassy patches that lined a small stream that felt deeply misplaced in the space. The babbling brook that crossed the room started at the oddest thing Maren had seen in her life. A broken mirror with water pouring from the darkness behind the cracks and missing pieces. And in the center, Selma knelt in her once wheat colored nightdress, now stained in dirt and ash. And beside her, something Maren thought impossible.
"I love you so much," the mirage of the Queen whispered. "I'm sorry. I'm sorr-"
Selma sat there, motionless — expressionless. She said nothing when they entered, as if she hadn't noticed their presence. Maren hesitated in the doorway, just beside Cora, realizing they'd walked in on something deeply private.
The mirage blinked in and out of reality, disappearing. But then, Selma's wrist turned and the mirage started again, like a phantom of cruelty, entrancing her.
"My babies, I'm sorry."
Cora stepped forward, her fists clenched beside her. Her foot sank into the spongy mess of dirt, moss and grass with an awkward squelch. Maren flinched, reaching her hand out to grasp Cora's wrist, but her touch didn't stop her. Cora moved forward with another excruciating hiss of moisture trapped within the ground.
Selma didn't flinch or bother to glance over. Her eyes stared blankly at the misty, cold visage of her mother's death. Mist spewed into the air from somewhere in the ground, creating a cloud of mist and magic — Maren could smell it in the air — only colder than the other magic she'd witnessed. This one chilled the air around them. Her icy fingers crossed over her chest, wrapping her arms around herself, searching for warmth. She gazed at Selma, as Cora forced herself across the space. Her expression was blank, but there was something about Selma that unsettled her. She stared down at the mirage, her eyes steady and unblinking, like she was taking it all in. They were bloodshot from exhaustion, set with bags under her eyes that seemed to grow deeper with every moment that she sat there. Her arms were lined with bruises and small cuts, and smears of dirt and ash. Her dark hair was wild and as untamed as the rest of her. Maren's gaze washed down her body, taking her in before she approached.
But then, her eyes stopped.
Her hand.
She'd twisted it, and the visage of her mother's death repeated, but now she knew why. Selma grasped a long shard of that mirror in her palm. It cut her — deeply — pouring her blood into the dirt beneath her. Maren let out a small gasp, and suddenly she knew what it was about Selma that she couldn't place. For someone she'd described as meek as long as she'd known her, there was something undeniably intense about Selma. When she'd twisted her wrist, she was only making the cut deeper so that she could see her mother one more time. Her movement was sharp and confident, lacking hesitation. And that unsettled Maren. Something inside told her that this was wrong. That Selma was in danger. But it shocked her so much, she felt as though she couldn't move. As if the icy tendrils of magic that live in this space were gripping her, not allowing her to move.
But Cora was like a flame in the cold.
Another sharp twist of her wrist, and Maren flinched, but Cora remained steady. The mirage started again.
"My babies."
"Selma," Cora said, her voice low and direct. "You need to stop."
Selma didn't respond — didn't bother looking up. Her focus remained solely on watching her mother's death scene, as if she were committing it to memory.
"Selma," Cora said again, her voice harder this time.
Selma flinched this time, but her body remained in place, her hand loosening from the shard slightly. Maren moved forward grasping Cora's hand. There was a time and place to be harsh, but this was not it. And she didn't want Cora to accidentally push Selma away. Maren squeezed her hand, urging her, hoping she would understand. And then Cora's hand relaxed, releasing the tension in her body. She took in a deep sigh, and crouched beside Selma, kneeling in the grass with her.
"When I was younger, my family would bring me home for those weeks between school breaks at the Academy," Cora began. "They told the Star Court that it was for family reunions. And of course there was a party every time. But the real reason was because they were trying to activate my powers."
Maren blinked. That's what that was for?
"The Empire may try to conceal our powers but we're made of magic. It's not hard to see," she continued, a sad smile playing at her lips. But then her expression hardened. "Sometimes the 'training' was easy. Sometimes it wasn't. But I endured it. Even if it hurt. Even if it was obviously wrong. They were the only moments I ever really had with them. But when my powers never stretched beyond something that could boil water, my parents stopped trying. And that's when I stopped being called home."
Her grimace wavered, and her lips thinned into a line, shaking slightly, as if she were choking back tears.
"It was bittersweet when I realized what was happening. That my powers meant more to them than me," She let out a shaky sigh and brought her eyes back up to Selma, whose grip on the shard was beginning to loosen. She turned to the disappearing visage of Queen Victoria. "I think I would do anything to hear such an honest I love you from my own mother." She placed her hand on Selma's shaking hand and whispered, "I'm sorry she didn't get to tell you in person."
Selma gritted her teeth, but the tears fell anyway.
She released the shard, letting it fall to the ground. Maren watched in silent horror as the moss began to reach for it, slowly swallowing it. Selma's sobbing echoed throughout the mysterious dome, bringing tears to Maren's own eyes. She could feel it in her sobs. Selma was sad, but she was frustrated and angry and tired and full of regret. Feelings Maren could understand, but couldn't fully feel herself. Her own family — her mother and father — loved her deeply. Before the beginning of the trials, they sent letters weekly. And before this, Maren didn't realize the true value in each of those letters — some that even went unopened. Every single letter she'd read ended in an I love you. And even in those that went unopened, she knew she could count on that single phrase.
Maren moved around them, settling on the right side of Selma. She reached for her hand, as Selma wiped her ever flowing tears with the other. She entwined her fingers with Selma's, bringing her palm to her own. And with her other hand, she covered the back of Selma's hand. Maren closed her eyes, calling upon her magic to heal her.
"I just…" Selma began. "I just didn't want to forget."
Maren shared a glance with Cora. This is why it felt wrong. There were only eight deaths, but each of those deaths meant something to someone.
There weren't only eight deaths.
There were eight deaths.
Eight losses.
Eight consequences of not acting sooner.
Maren knew they couldn't allow this to happen again. They needed a plan. They needed to get in front of this. Or more people would suffer.
"Come with us," Maren whispered, still holding her hand. Selma looked up, wiping a single tear from her eye. "We'll have to move soon. And Leah will be given a paid vacation that will act as bed rest. She was my maid but she also acted like a lady in waiting. Would you like to be my official lady in waiting? You wouldn't have to stay here by yourself. You could travel Carbouran — with us."
Maren knew what staying in Forsyth would mean for her. It was well-known that Queen Victoria's marriage to the King of Forsyth was a political one. It was likely that he would take another wife — even more likely that she would be much younger. And depending on what kind of person she was would make or break Selma's already strained experience at home.
"If you come with us, you'll be employed by the empire," Maren added. "If you're employed by me, you won't have to forget. You can keep your memories of your mother."
Selma's somber gaze darted toward her, eyes wide and full of shock and hope. She lifted her other hand, settling it on Maren's with a smile.
***
The sun began to peek over the mountain top, flooding the world in an orange glow. The breeze flowed through the open windows of the royal carriage, wisping Selma's hair around her arms as she gazed out the carriage.
"That's the last of it!" One of the guards called from behind them, following a loud thunk.
Selma could feel Maren lean in before she whispered, "Are you sure you don't want to find your father before you leave?"
Selma stared into the endless windows of the palace. She wondered if he bothered to see her off, even in his own way. But she didn't want to dare risk her own peace to beg for his love. It had only been two days since she'd learned of her mother's death but he hadn't come to see her once. Her brother hardly left her side, expressing that he was happy she was joining them for the rest of the trials.
And she was happy too, in her own way.
As much happiness as she could muster.
She never told her brother of the secret halls within Forsyth. She thought perhaps it was selfish, but the magic within those halls were something she desperately wanted to keep to herself. She packed all the books and journals she could find, letting the magic of that place lead her to what she might need in her new journey.
She knew she'd come back.
Forsyth was her own.
But right now, Selma knew she needed to start a new journey. Maybe she always knew that hers intertwined with the Starblessed. Maybe that's why she was always interested in them. And as the carriage began to move toward Avelle, Selma couldn't help but feel a hint of excitement as the north-flowing winds and the clatter of horseshoes ushered them forward.
[1] This chapter is a heavy one. Like I've said before, I want Selma to become a real part of this story, with her own arc. And as I've written her, I've come to realize that she is an especially intense and complex character. Those traits can sometimes lead her to do things that are shocking and even horrible or unsettling or sad. I didn't want to label the content warning as “self-harm” in the modern sense, because that's not really what is happening here. But this chapter does tiptoe around an intentional injury that happens because of Selma's desperate need to see her mother again and to remember her. And the scene felt too raw for me not to put a content warning on it.