Author's Note: Thank you SO much to everyone for the support on chapter 1 :) It made me so happy, and I've already started to get some great characters! Just as a reminder, the deadline to send a character in is June 1st. Thanks for reading, and just to let you know, reviews make my day/encourage me to update faster :D
Despite how beautiful it was, Lydia had neglected the palace library for most of her life. She liked stories but preferred hearing them read or recounted from memory rather than locking herself away in silence with a book. She had always told herself that she'd read for fun some day when her formal lessons were over, but since she'd become crown princess and her education had turned into more specialized training in politics and monarchial instruction, she still found that her desire to take on extra reading was incredibly low.
Yet in the last few years, the library had become almost like Lydia's second bedroom. Some nights, she even fell asleep face down in the piles of books spread out across the mahogany table that she had claimed as her own. If her whereabouts were ever in question, the library was a good place to begin the search.
As a child, she'd preferred adventure stories, full of harrowing danger, brave protagonists, and ultimately happy endings. But those weren't the books that she scoured now. Instead, she'd taken it upon herself to read every volume on magic that the royal library possessed cover to cover in hopes that she could find something that would help them free Naomi. She was a dutiful study of healing powers as well, convinced—no matter what Hazel said—that if she could just be stronger, she might be able to help her sister.
On this particular Friday night, she was so engrossed in her stacks of tomes that she didn't notice the figure materializing at her side out of thin air until it yelled, "Lydia!" She jumped so violently that her flailing arm knocked her iced tea over, and she had to rush to save a pair of books from its destructive stream.
"Cohen." Lydia glared at her younger brother.
He snickered as he dropped into one of the empty chairs at the table. "What are you reading all this junk for anyway?" he asked as he picked up a book called So You're a Healer: Now What?
"It's not junk," Lydia protested as she grabbed the book back from him. "If you're ever on your death bed because you got sick or hurt yourself—or someone else hurts you, which is probably the most likely possibility if you keep this 'sneaking up on people' thing up—you're going to be glad I've read all this junk."
Cohen's forehead furrowed. "But you can't heal terminal illnesses."
"Yes, thank you for the reminder," she replied, trying to keep any edge out of her voice. Cohen was four years younger than Lydia and still in the unfortunate teenage boy phase where he said whatever was on his mind. "What are you doing here anyway?" she added. "I thought you were allergic to the library. And books. And any remotely intellectual pursuit."
"Very funny," Cohen commented with a sarcastic roll of his eyes. "I come to bring you dessert, and this is how I'm treated."
Lydia paused at the mention of sweets. "What'd you get?" she asked, trying to hide her excitement. Queen Collette was a very strict advocate of healthy eating and viewed foods with excessive amounts of processed sugar as the enemy.
She tried not to squeal with happiness when Cohen produced two pieces of strawberry shortcake. "Where did you get this?" she wondered as he handed her a fork.
"Bribed a cook," he declared. Lydia paused, wondering if she should discourage her younger brother from bribing people to smuggle banned substances into the palace. But the cake looked so inviting that she ultimately decided against it.
"What's the occasion?" she asked. "Just some casual, Friday night corruption?"
Cohen shrugged and paused in his destruction of his own piece of cake. "Just wanted to make sure you were okay," he explained.
Lydia tried not to let her expression change, but the fact that Cohen had decided to check up on her—and bring her cake—meant a lot. On the weekly Report earlier that evening, her Selection had been officially announced. In the next week, forms from all over Illéa would make their way to the palace, and another week after the announcements were made, thirty-five men would follow.
Truthfully, it was a lot to handle, and she appreciated Cohen's concern. But it also made her feel a little guilty. She had been sixteen at the time of Naomi's accident, yet their fifteen-year-old brother was taking care of Lydia better than she had been able to take care of Naomi.
She forced a smile. "I'm fine," she assured him.
"You know you don't have to have a Selection," Cohen pointed out.
Lydia laughed. "I know," she replied, "But I kind of want to. It could be good for… everyone." Cohen didn't look convinced, so she added, "Do you think I shouldn't have one?"
"It just feels weird, you having a Selection," Cohen explained.
Lydia paused. "The crown princess always does," she reminded him.
"Yeah," Cohen agreed, "I just never really thought that you would have one though."
It made sense, because she never should have been about to hold a Selection since she hadn't been born the crown princess. But Cohen shouldn't have been experiencing any sort of weird feeling at all. Hazel, Tallulah, and Iris had cast the most powerful amnesic spell possible. Every trace of Naomi had disappeared, both physical and otherwise.
"I mean, who else would have one?" she tried to joke in an attempt to throw Cohen off.
But his blonde eyebrows just furrowed lower, like he knew there was a reason for his confusion, but he just couldn't pin it down. "I don't know," he admitted.
"Well, at least we still have a few more weeks to get used to this," she added. "It is a weird situation. But hey, you'll have a lot of guys to hang out with. The Schreaves won't be dominated by women anymore."
Cohen rolled his eyes. "We never have been dominated by women," he countered, "Me and Dad can take on you and Mom any day."
Lydia thought of the way that she and Naomi had always appealed to their mom when their dad had said no to a request when they were younger. He'd never stood a chance. A nostalgic smile tugged at her face. "Whatever you say, Co," she offered.
"Hey, wanna take Bex on a walk with me?" he asked with a glance out the window. "It finally stopped raining."
Lydia tried not to laugh at the mention of Bexter, the labradoodle that Cohen had mockingly named after Lydia's best friend, Bex Hannigan. "Sure," she agreed. She closed the book that she'd spent the last hour on and placed it at the top of her stack, fully intending to return. She'd realized early on that she couldn't spend all her time on Naomi, as it tended to raise her family's suspicions. Prior to her sister's accident, they'd been extremely close-knit so when she had spent the months following Naomi's curse in a panicked and constantly on-edge, always in the library or in the fairies' rooms, her parents and brother had noticed.
The pair tracked down Bex and even came across Lydia's black cat, Vito, who she coaxed into coming outside with them. "That cat is getting fat," Cohen remarked as he steered Bex through the gardens. The sky had begun to darken to the inky midnight blue shade of night, but there were still plenty of lanterns to illuminate the siblings' path.
"He is not," countered Lydia, "He's perfect, and don't you forget it." Lydia had found Vito on the street outside the palace gates eight years ago after he'd been hit by a car. When she'd taken him to the palace doctor, the man had suggested that they find a vet to put him out of his pain, but Hazel had shown Lydia how to heal him. It was the first time that Lydia had used her powers for something more than a cut or a twisted ankle, and to this day, Vito didn't have as much as a limp.
But maybe he was getting a little fat, she noted as she carried him.
"Do you even know what kind of guy you want to marry?" Cohen asked, evidently still stuck on the topic of the Selection. "And how are you going to figure it out without Bex around?"
Lydia brightened at the mention of Bex, her closest friend of eight years. "Actually, Bex is coming back from school for the summer in a week," she announced, "so she'll be here to keep everyone—including you—in check." Cohen rolled his eyes. "But I'm not really sure about guys," Lydia admitted, "My longest experience was Hutton, and that was…"
"A dumpster fire," Cohen snickered.
Lydia tried not to laugh. "He was definitely interesting."
"He was weird," Cohen insisted.
"A little weird," agreed Lydia. She paused. "Have Mom and Dad ever told you anything about their Selection?"
Cohen snorted. "Yeah, at our weekly sleepovers where we paint our nails and watch chick flicks."
Lydia rolled her eyes. "Alright, smart ass," she sighed. "Maybe I'll do a little investigating, see if Dad has any advice."
"Mom's the best," Cohen noted, "so he did something right. Although you should find someone who likes cake more than Mom does."
Before Lydia could agree, Bex tugged the leash out of Cohen's hand and dashed towards a nearby tree. The siblings gave the same exasperated groan before they chased after the often-misbehaved dog. Vito expressed his disapproval of the jostling that Lydia's increased speed caused him by digging his claws into the skin of her forearms. Once Cohen grabbed Bex's leash, Leah unhooked the claws from her arm, frowning at the scratches left behind. She studied them for a moment until they illuminated and the angry red welts quickly faded, like they'd never even existed.
"Freak," commented Cohen as he joined her and watched her arm heal itself.
"Says the Invisible Boy," teased Lydia.
"You're just jealous I got the cooler power," he countered.
"Clearly," agreed Lydia. "What was Bex chasing anyway?"
Cohen shrugged and walked towards the tree his dog had rushed to. He looked around for a minute before he frowned. "Aw, man."
Lydia adjusted Vito in her arms and joined him. "What—oh."
Nestled in the grass was a tiny baby squirrel. Lydia glanced up into the tree and noticed a nest. The little squirrel must have fallen and didn't look ready to run back up the tree of its own accord any time soon. "Do you think it's okay?" Cohen asked.
She handed Vito—who was examining the squirrel much less sympathetically than Lydia and Cohen—to her brother before she reached a hand out. The squirrel looked at her wildly but didn't run away.
When she touched it, Lydia had to swallow back a rush of pain. The animal was certainly injured, that much was evident. While Lydia's power sounded like a cure all, she didn't have the ability to heal anything—that much had been made clear by Naomi. If a malady was too serious, usually terminal, the most she'd be able to do was ease the victim's suffering, though it was something she did with a large physical toll on herself. Now, she focused all her energy on the little squirrel. After a moment, the familiar light glowed from her palm before it lit up the squirrel's legs.
Just when she thought she was going to fall over, the squirrel pulled itself to its feet. It took two tentative steps before it raced towards the base of the tree. A moment later, it was scurrying back into the branches.
As she stood, the world seemed to wobble for a minute before it thankfully righted itself. "It is sorta cool when you do that," Cohen admitted, his gaze following the squirrel.
"Wow," chortled Lydia, "I'm probably one of the few older sisters who have ever heard their brother admit they're cool."
"Enjoy it," Cohen instructed, "It's not gonna happen often."
Since healing normally left Lydia feeling a little drained, she took Vito back and told Cohen she'd see him later before she headed back into the palace. After she released Vito, she took a detour into the kitchen in search of a snack or some sort of pick me up.
Dinner was always eaten a little earlier on Friday's because of the Report, which meant that the hectic activity in the kitchen had long ended. Instead of the expansive staff, there was only a single chef, a friendly man named Tom who had worked at the palace for as long as Lydia could remember. He was one of the nicer chefs, a great cook but less stringent about treating the kitchens like some sacred temple.
"Hey, Lydia," he called when she walked in.
"Hey, Tom," she replied with a smile. She opened one of the large, stainless steel fridges and frowned as she took in the kale, carrots, and healthy juices that were staples in Queen Collette's kitchens. "You're here late."
"Just trying to get ahead," he answered. It looked like he was kneading dough. "Looking for something in particular?" he called over his shoulder.
"Sort of," she admitted, "I just needed a little pick me up."
Tom paused to turn a critical gaze on the princess. "Were you healing in the gardens again?"
Lydia chuckled uncomfortably. "Maybe…?"
In the immediate aftermath of Naomi's curse, Lydia had felt particularly useless. When she realized that she couldn't heal her sister—though it wasn't for lack of trying on her part—she'd turned her attention to anything. She volunteered at children's hospitals, she'd visit the Angeles National Park in search of hurt animals, she'd even aimlessly meander through the gardens bringing crumpled flowers back to their previous beautiful existences.
And then, for the first time in her life, she'd gotten sick. She'd expended so much energy on everyone else that her body had nothing left. When it took a week for Hazel, Tallulah, and Iris to nurse her back to health, Ezra and Collette banned her from excessive abuse of her powers. Everyone in the palace knew, and if they ever saw her tossing around her abilities willy-nilly, they were expected to inform her parents. It was a little overbearing, but Lydia knew that it came from a good place so she tried not to get too annoyed when one of them decided to stop by to remind her to exercise restraint.
More so than anyone else in the palace, Tom was often the person who noticed when Lydia had used more energy than she should have, because she always ended up in the kitchen trying to regroup. But instead of ratting her out, he would just give her the disapproving look she was faced with now and pause whatever he was doing to get her a snack. If she was particularly lucky, sometimes it was even something that wouldn't have passed Collette's healthy standards.
Today, tacos were on the menu, and Lydia slumped into one of the seats at a small table in the corner while she waited. The evening newspaper had been deposited on the table, and she grabbed it, wondering if there had been a write up about the Selection yet. But she froze as soon as she noticed the headline.
Second-In-Line, First Engaged! Italian Prince Benedetto di Angelo to Marry.
Her heart plummeted, and any exhaustion that she'd been feeling was instantly replaced with panic. "What?!" she screeched, causing Tom to jump and drop the tortilla he had been toasting.
The worst part was that he looked happy, excited even, as he waved at the crowds that had gathered outside the Italian palace. At his side stood a beautiful New Asian princess. As Lydia scanned the article, she discovered that the princess was named Jia and was a granddaughter of the current New Asian emperor. There were words like "very excited" and "happy couple" and "their future together", but none of them made any sense to Lydia.
"Lydia?"
She reluctantly looked away from the article. Tom's eyebrows were furrowed with concern. "I said do you want salsa or guacamole?"
"Neither," she decided. "Uh, I have to do something. Thanks though, Tom."
Adrenaline powered her through the palace until she reached the common room that linked Iris, Hazel, and Tallulah's rooms on the third floor. "Guys!" she yelled as she banged into the room, "We have an emergency—"
But she frowned when she realized there was no one there. Some kind of liquid was stirring itself in midair, a sign that Tallulah had been in the room at least somewhat recently, but there was no trace of any of them. Lydia crumpled the newspaper in her fist in frustration and put a hand to her forehead.
After a deep sigh, she decided to stop in and see Naomi until the fairies returned. She took the fourth door out of the common room, the one that led up a winding flight of stairs into Naomi's tower.
It turned out to be a terrible idea, as her panic over the impending Italian nuptials combined with the guilt that seeing Naomi's still form always caused. Lydia sighed as she crossed the room and slumped to the floor against the bed. "I don't know what to do anymore," she confessed to her sister's unconscious form.
She gave herself a single tear of frustration before she wiped it away with the back of her hand and pulled herself onto the bed. She reached for the hairbrush that was kept in the drawer of the bedside table and pulled it through the ends of her sister's golden hair. It might've been dumb to do things like brush Naomi's hair or paint her nails, since she never moved and therefore didn't muss either of them, but Lydia couldn't help it. Sometimes, it felt like Naomi was just a case study, especially when the fairies were all bent over her examining her vitals and things like that. But Lydia tried to keep Naomi ready for the day that she woke up and returned to her life.
However, as she leaned closer to Naomi's face, Lydia paused. She'd seen Naomi every day for three years. And every day for three years, Naomi had looked the same.
But not today.
Although Naomi was as still and unresponsive as ever, there was a definite change: her lips were tinged with purple, almost like they were bruised.
Lydia dropped the brush and put her hand over Lydia's mouth. It caused little black spots to dance in front of her eyes, but she focused until light glowed on Naomi's face. The bruise disappeared, and Lydia let herself exhale.
Until it returned.
Fear flooded Lydia as she grabbed Naomi's arm. It didn't feel like Naomi was in any pain that Lydia could alleviate, but that was little comfort at the moment.
"Hazel?" Lydia yelled. She tried to heal the bruise again. It reappeared after another minute. "Tallulah? Iris?"
"We know."
She turned to see the three standing in the doorway, their faces grim. "Tallulah noticed it this morning," Hazel explained.
"And no one told me?" Lydia demanded as she rose and turned to them with crossed arms. "Why's it happening? Is something the matter with her?"
While Hazel, as the earth fairy, had always had the most calming presence, Lydia didn't feel comforted when the older woman put a hand on her shoulder. "We're not sure," she admitted.
"We have a theory," admitted Tallulah. Hazel glared at her.
"What is it?" Lydia asked, her stomach sinking.
Hazel was still busy glaring at Tallulah, who looked no more equipped to elaborate. Iris nervously began, "Three years is a long time for a sleeping curse."
"There have been others," pointed out Lydia, "Longer than that even."
"None of them cast by Agnimitra," Hazel countered in a soft voice. "She was the most powerful fire fairy there's ever been."
It felt like all the blood in Lydia's body had been replaced with ice. "So, what are you saying?"
The three exchanged a look before Tallulah tried again. "We think… well, it's possible that maybe… Hazel… perhaps…"
"We think her body is dying," Iris supplied.
The stress of the last few hours caught up with Lydia. It was a good thing she had the ability to heal herself, because her legs failed her, and her unconscious body collapsed to the stone floor before anyone could try to catch her.