The weather cooperated for Ambihum. The sun shines bright, not a single cloud cuts through the sky's endless expanse of blue, and the trickling of a breeze pushes the hair off the nape of my neck. Still, spring hasn't arrived enough for warmer conditions, so I dress accordingly in a rough-spun dress, laced leather boots that stop at my ankles, wool socks, and a velvet cloak I found in the back of my closet. The moth holes lining the bottom were easily repaired.

I itch at the leather bodice, tied tightly with matching string, but that's not the worst of my problems. The cinched sleeves cut into my wrists. A rash develops underneath.

For the sun having hardly risen, Flower Foothills is littered with all walks of life. This holiday is more of a fair than anything; those with few coinare always tempted to purchase the most colorful and rarest flowers, and the accompany that procurement, they munch on sugary desserts coated in white icing.

Many wooden stands prop themselves in the grassy plains, sticking to the outside of Flower Foothills. Merchants whistle off-key tunes and prop their boots up on tables, leaning back in their chairs to soak up the sun's feigning warmth. I glance behind me, to Lyndel ordering his guards to keep a close eye on the dragons. "Don't let anyone climb on their back," I see his mouth say. "Not even a child. These beasts are fickle; they'll respond to anyone."

To save his neck, I hope he never speaks that falsehood in front of Theo. He'll strangle him. Those dragons are his pride and joy, he would hate to see one of them mistreated.

At my side, Mutes takes in the rolling green hills and dotting of colorful flowers. He tips his chin high to breathe in spring's scent, exposing am unbreakable jawline. I study it, the rough plane of his cheekbones, the ever-present muscle locking in his jaw. He senses my focus and meets my eye, but I immediately look away.

"Are you ready?" I ask, extending an arm out to the grassy plains. Children scatter with baskets in hand. Their giddy giggles echo towards us.

"Of course." Mutes's voice is almost nervous, hesitant. I lock my arm with his and that seems to relax his shoulders, but they stiffen once Lyndel's steps sound at our backs. He doesn't plan to leave us alone-we're two Luminaries that belong to the Raven Queen. If Mutes wanted to, he could make a run for it now that she's not here to watch over his every move.

Not a single royal will attend Ambihum. Not even Gustus or Theo. Apparently, they don't see the 'big deal' in flower picking and sweet treats. Farm has never produced anything they desire, other than their entire meal, so our holidays aren't as important. Anything in Hegemonize catches their eye, though.

"My favorite season was spring when I was growing up," I say to make conversation. The dread pooling in my stomach directly results from Mutes's constant silence. I wonder if he remembers his real name, or if the Raven Queen took that from him, too. Either way, he's not supposed to talk enough to catch her attention, if at all.

"How come?" he asks.

Any normal person would've said spring means growing flowers and pastel colors, the birth of young animals and growing crops. Green returned to the world. Nothing of that substance comes to mind when I think of why spring was my favorite time of year. "Spring meant we made it through winter. We were still alive. Now the weather couldn't be what killed us, something else would have to do it."

Mutes stares at me blankly. His steps slow, and I think he might force my hand out of the crook of his arm so he can go find someone normal to talk to, but a steely look fills his features instead. Personal hatred, or that of his queen. "I grew up in Hegemonize. I was always jealous of Farm; you lived a simple life that I always craved."

Not the response I was expecting. Normally, Mutes jumps at the chance to offer the slightest hint of sympathy. Not that I'm looking to be coddled like a child, but I expected something more from him. Every step he takes is stiff, calculated, and he never stops staring straight ahead like waiting for something to come over the horizon. He doesn't watch the children, nor the merchant advertising their goods. He ignores the bouquets exchanged from one hand to the other. Something cold freezes over his heart.

"Is...is everything all right?" I drop my voice low enough so an eavesdropping Lyndel can't hear.

Mutes blinks the exhaustion from his eyes. He hasn't slept a full night in weeks. Even sleeping on my sofa, away from Millicent, is difficult for him. I wake in the middle of the night to find him staring at my fireplace, his temple propped onto his fist. Sometimes, he doesn't seem to know I'm there until I place my hand on his shoulder. He sputters, every single time, and his skin pales. Almost like I have thrown him from a deep meditation.

"Everything's fine," he promises. Just tired. "I'm just tired."

Of course, he is. I shove down my relentless questions. "You must've avoided taking into account our lack of money and poor lifestyle," I say. "Hegemonize had everything a young boy could ever want."

A smile plays on the corner of his mouth. "I wish I would've known you before I became a Luminary. I had a better life then. My family dealt closely to court until I...became a person of magic and she killed my parents." Mutes's voice comes out as little more than a breath.

I have ever been the type of person that jumped at the chance to protect, even for the slimmest dispute, but I want to throttle the Raven Queen for what she did. Also, I want to slap Mutes upside the back of the head for thinking he could go against her. No one can, and she proved that.

My face falls. I lean closer into him, practically resting my cheek on his shoulder. He knows of no other warmth than what she provides him; the woman that killed his parents. Forced him into a life of slavery. If I could, I would tackle Lyndel and tell Mutes to run. Tell him to find somewhere else to live so he can be free of his shackles. Millicent would hunt him, but Mutes is smart. He could get away if someone gave him the proper resources to do so.

I know he wouldn't leave. Part of me wonders if it's because of me that he continues this life instead of fighting for a right to peace. I hate to be the reason anyone holds on for longer than they should.

"I know the fear of loss all too well," I say quietly. Mutes turns his head, and warm breath leaks onto my nose. "Years will pass before you overcome the sorrow."

His face breaks into a beautiful grin, and he takes my hand. "Come, let's explore."

I'm too excited by the rush of enthusiasm injected into him to care where it came from. I allow him to tug me away from the guards, from Lyndel, from the cluster of people resting blankets in the grass to sit upon. Couples of all ages watch their children frolic. Picnic baskets rest at their feet, some already open after impatience and growling stomachs swayed the order.

Mutes breaks into a jog and tugs me along with him. My knuckles grind together with how tight he grips my hand, and I hold up my skirts, laughing as we trample through the grass and past children that stare at us. I dare a look over my shoulder at Lyndel. He has too much pride to dash after us, and a fast-paced walk is all he manages up the hill we just climbed.

Cold air burns my lungs with every inhale. I spin on the top of the hill and take in every inch of green grass swaying below us, around us, dancing in a parade that synchronizes with the distant musician hum. I love Ambihum. I make a mental note to take Mutes to one of the bakery stands, the one notorious for iced cakes. No one can come to Ambihum without trying one. They're the epitome of the holiday.

Mutes and I walk hand in hand for what feels like hours. Flower Foothills stretches as far as the eyes can see, and we cover every inch of it. The farther we walk; the more couples gather flowers to give to their significant other. Bouquets aren't concluded unless tied with a red ribbon. Upon closer inspection, I find many fluttering through the grasses, caught by a soft wind that carries them to the next lucky stranger.

A young woman jumps into the arms of her lover after he hands her a bouquet that clearly took hours to make. Tens of flowers, if not hundreds, weigh down in her grasp, and when she throws her arms around his neck, petals flop to the ground and the weak flowers break free. Still, she's as joyous as ever.

We steer closer to the woods bordering Flower Foothills. Lyndel grumbles something about turning back, we have gone too far, but I couldn't care less whether he remained or disappeared back to the merchant stands. Someone is playing music, anyway. The perfect tune for dancing.

Two families spread themselves out onto wool blankets, the fathers strumming together a melodic tune from a violin and flute. Young children barely old enough to walk stagger into the Flower Foothills, gaining perspective from the flower crowns atop their mothers' heads. The two women laugh, giggling at stuttered steps and wobbly knees.

My smile comes easy at the sight of the two of them. The young boy, his shaggy blond hair matted around his ears, fists a small weed from the ground and rips it from the roots. He spins, nearly knocking the raven-haired girl in the face with it if not for her stumbling back on a small rock. On instinct, her mother leans forward, but the small child catches herself before intervention is needed. Her eyes gleaming with sunlight, cheeks pricked red from the pinching cold, the little girl's fist wraps around the weed and shakes out the dirt from the roots, giggling all the while. A moment later, the boy joins in, practically dancing in the rain of mud clots falling to the ground.

The two families are too involved in their own children to notice us passing by. For a moment, I'm reminded of myself, of how I used to spare every flower I could find for Castiel. We weren't always in Flower Foothills to celebrate, but we stole from pots and planters, sometimes only managing a petal to give. My smile turns to a sorrow-infused frown.

Most of the memories I have of Castiel are when he could walk. Anything after that, once his chair split our relationship in half, is a muddled memory of nothing. Even the true memories I have of him from when his legs still worked, his chair makes an appearance. I wake some mornings and wonder if he ever walked before, or if my imagination became reality the day the Void Queen met us. I scoff. Met us, as if we became friends.

I look over at Mutes, suddenly realizing I have let my thoughts venture too far. He's already looking at me sheepishly. In his hand, he extends a small calliopsis. The yellow petals stick out sharply, a thin green stem underneath. My cheeks immediately heat.

Pinching the stem between my fingers, I say, "Thank you."

Mutes mutters something too quiet for me to hear. Needing to do something with my body, I pivot towards Lyndel but he's not following us anymore. One of the fathers called him over to speak to him; they're in the process of shaking hands. The small boy tugs on his armor, too close to his sword. Lyndel tries to brush him away with a swipe of his hand but the boy is as persistent as ever.

Well, at least we're alone now.

Mutes and I walk in silence for a little longer. The Flower Foothills blind my senses so I look to the woods instead, the dark outcropping of trees that spreads thicker in some places, thinner towards the outer edges. From the bright, spring day, the woods are a gloomy alternative. My eyes narrow at the ground, squinting as I spot the glimmer of something bright sitting along the outside of a tree. "What is that?" I ask.

"What do you see?" Mutes's voice squeaks.

I push down a bubble of laughter and grab his hand. His warm fingers drape innocently over the back of my hand and he grips just as tight, allowing me to lead him into the depth of the woods. The temperature plummets and I wrap my arms around myself, rubbing up and down to stall the freezing ache.

Where did those bright flowers go? At least, they looked to be flowers.

I frown, spinning in a circle. "Where did they go? Flowers can't move on their own." Finally, my eyes fall upon another glimmer deeper in the woods. There. I stomp after it, tripping over tree roots attempting to grab my ankles. I steady my hand on the trunk and nearly slap myself for almost crushing the flower Mutes gave me. To keep it safe, I stuff it in the pocket of my dress.

The only sound in these woods is Mutes's steps following behind me. He tries to keep up, but I'm faster. Distant music fades away, I can't hear the bells of incoming merchants, and the sweet giggling coming from the young mouths of children withers away underneath the brush of high branches.

There's something unsettling about walking deeper and deeper into the woods. This land is unknown, untouched, and only rabid beasts roam here. But I want to find those flowers. I lay eyes upon them, but they disappear upon closer inspection. Or they're just water droplets on the tips of clustered mushrooms.

I stop in the middle of a small clearing, placing my hands on my hips. Where are those darned flowers? If I'm to give Mutes a flower, I want it to be something special. A flower no one else has gotten before.

He appears from behind a fallen trunk and climbs over. His gangly legs keep him anchored to the ground. With a grimace, he wipes the dirt from his hands onto his pants and plasters on a smile I know is faked. "Did you find what you were looking for?" he questions in a bored, slightly impatient tone.

I chew on my bottom lip. "No, and I don't know...how. The flowers were everywhere, but then they weren't there at all."

"That's certainly strange." He plays coy and looks around as if searching for the same thing I am without actually putting in the effort. "How about we head back? These woods are chilly."

My motivation slumps. I turn in another circle, trying to remember which way we came. These woods are thick and deep. Any time we passed by them; my mother gripped so tightly onto my hand I couldn't feel my fingers for hours after she released. "Oh, dear." I tap a finger onto my scrunched chin. "I fear we might be lost."

"Lost?" Mutes arches a brow. "I don't believe so. We just have to retrace our steps."

While I'm in the process of wondering about those flowers, he steps away from me. A nervous laugh leaves me. "Where are you going?"

Mutes stops, staring at the ground. He smiles at me without humor. That's when I see it. Rather, her. A small scream erupts from my chest, but she cuts it off before anyone can hear. I stumble back, slamming into the trunk of a tree, my boots tangled in the roots. Not out of natural occurrence. She traps me with her magic, using the world as a cage.

Wyetta Terravale. The Void Queen.

The roots wrap around my wrists and ankles, another swooping high to grab my waist and practically tie me to the tree. The back of my head slams against the trunk and I immediately see stars. I try to fight the restraints, but Wyetta's power is too strong. I'm too weak.

Why is she here? Why, of all places, must she come here? This is a territory I'll forever deem my true home, no matter how many palaces I live in.

She chuckles darkly and strides forward. A patch of sunlight catches on her moon silver hair, illuminating golden eyes. Like that of a feral cat. She even has the fangs to complete the disguise. Dressed in all her finery, white robes that drag behind her, she looks more like a queen than she did when I last saw her. She pinned me for later, a face to remember and a name she wouldn't forget.

Young elf, I know everything.

I can't speak. I can't scream for help. She holds a restraint over my body, and I realize why. Someone is coming. Running, rather. They barrel through the woods at such a rapid pace that the roots crack when stepped upon, dirt molding into their footprint.

Lyndel skids to a halt, his sword drawn, his stare immediately flying to me. Eyes grow wide. He whirls towards his former queen and releases a growl that just might alert the others of our location, and swings. Wyetta turns nonchalantly, flicking her wrist. More mud-clad roots shoot from the ground and wrap around his raised arm, squeezing tight enough that he has no other choice but to release his weapon.

The sword clatters to the ground helplessly.

Lyndel fights off what he can, kicking at the roots, but eventually, his bout ends. Magic crawls up his legs, wraps around his thighs, and grips tight enough that he releases a scream. The roots stifle that, too. He muffles a curse underneath the roots and attempts to bite his way through, but it's no use.

The only person unaccounted for is Mutes. I find him standing where I last saw him, his hands shoved inadequately into his pockets. He draws back without me having to utter a word. But why isn't...

He moves, then. Takes two steps to stand at Wyetta's shoulder, at her back. And she lets him. No, this can't be true. My strength sags at the realization. They're working together. They stand together...as one. Loyal allies that led me right into the trap. How could I have been so stupid? Of course, this was the only way Mutes could get me out of the palace with no one following along. I bet he jumped at the chance once he saw that I actually am a Luminary.

Actually, I bet he knew all along.

"Congratulations, Mutes," she purrs. Her voice makes me flinch. I hear the velvet edge of it every night when I go to sleep, and every morning when I wake to relive my nightmares. "We received our prize." She winks at me. "Young elf."

I will not fall into whatever plan she has. I thrash once more, twisting my wrists in both directions to break something free, but the roots grip tighter and dig into my skin. Warm liquid pools in my palms. Not poison, not sap. Blood. My blood.

The root wraps tight enough around my waist to cut off valuable air, but that's not all. My heart...it's...slowing. It flutters to life, attempting to keep me alive, but something is pressing down on its ability to absorb valuable bodily functions. I hang my head, vision blurring.

Lyndel breaks through the root. "Marie," he pants. "Don't die, Marie. Don't die."

I hear the desperation in his voice. She's killing me. She'll carve out my heart and mail it in a velvet-spun box decorated with my blood. They won't mourn me. Not Cloak, not Gustus, not even Aela who gave me a second chance to live. The Raven Queen will be glad to see I'm gone. My life...ended in betrayal.

A weak moan drips from my lips, voice restored. I have never felt so dead while breathing. Not even when she turned me into what I am, what I'm not afraid to hide any longer.

"There is no purpose in killing her," Wyetta says quietly but sharply. "I am slowing her heart so she'll fall unconscious. And when she's no longer connected to this world, I will handle the rest."

Sweet relief bleeds through her words. I cling to them, the idea that this pain will subside. I'll fall unconscious, and this...this significant dizziness will pass. I can hardly keep my eyes open anymore.

"You can't do that." Lyndel growls deeply, but his fight is over.

"I'll do it to you, too."

And she does. Within moments, Lyndel falls face-first to the ground, his arms splayed over his head. The roots retract into the ground and take the evidence with them, any sign of the Void Queen having been here. Boot scuffs, footprints, everything. The land is as untouched as it was when we first stepped foot into this cluttered stretch of woods. The perfect spot for capture.

Moments later, the roots release me. My knees crack against the ground and I double over myself, clutching onto my chest. She's slowing this down for me. In repayment for what I did to protect Exole. Her sister. I did this for her sister. Anyone on the other side of alliance deserves a little torture, don't they?

My head feels too big for my body. Pounding. Growing. Not enough air. I fall forward and give into the dark. Cold, armored hands grab me from behind, latching onto my arms to drag me through the woods. They won't even give the mercy of carrying me like a living being rather than a sack of potatoes.

Their rough hold is familiar to the army of the soulless. That night, they grabbed me in a similar fashion and didn't release until their leader ordered them to. It's them. Those terrible, soulless beasts that respond to her order without a second thought. The army of the soulless.

I hang my head, giving in completely. My power is of no use anymore. The iron band wrapped around my wrist suffocates what flows freely through my blood, snuffing it out and suffocating the force for another time.

My boots drag along the ground, but I don't care. One final breath, and my body gives in. After that, I don't remember a single thing.