I love you.I send the words down the bond, sending a piece of my strength with it.
Chaplain’s charcoal boots kick at Iri’s feet. He watches as his legs bounce, and Iri rolls with a grunt to his back. His long cloak isn’t nearly as perfect as it once was, with holes burnt through it now.
“This was too easy,” Chaplain sings. “For a minute, I didn’t think I’d get away with it. But here we are.” He holds his arms wide, revealing in his success. “It's unfortunate it had to be this way.”
“We aren’t dead yet,” Iri pants.
“But you will be.”
Metal scrapes against its sheath as Chaplain pulls a dagger from inside his cloak. My vision blackens, but I can still see the way it glints as he runs his finger against the blade’s edge. He lunges.
Iri’s hands catch the blade’s hilt, holding it inches from the shallow dip in his throat. Chaplain puts his weight into it, smiling as his King struggles.
Do something, Syren! Stop him! My mind screams for me to move. And I do. I crawl forward, baring my teeth as my body protests against the pain. It hurts to breathe. It hurts to move. But Iri’s death would hurt more.
My neck stings as a salty tear rolls down my cheek and hits the open burns. I flick my wrist, knowing I can’t manage much more. The world tilts from side to side, my head light as my body threatens to fail me.
“Syren, run,” Iri growls between grunts.
Over my literal dead body.I snap back. He wouldn’t leave me, and I am not going to leave him.
Water lifts from my cheeks. I let an agonizing sob escape me as my fears and my pain ravage my emotions. Forming into a string of thin, nearly unnoticeable liquid, I push through the haze that blackens my vision, sending my tears from my face through the air and into the Chaplain’s lungs.
He coughs at first. Sputtering on the water I don’t allow to come back up. It’s an unpracticed movement I make with my fingers that seals the water in his lungs. Chaplain’s hands loosen on the dagger, his legs reeling him backward.
Clattering to the ground, the blade falls against the pavement, where Iri takes it in his hands. My King drags himself up to standing. His eyes glance from Chaplain’s blue face to my strained pose against the ground. I don’t dare to look at him. I don’t dare to break this concentration.
As Chaplain falls, Iri stumbles toward me. His legs shake, and he drops back to the wet earth without a sound. When Chaplain’s lifeless body no longer moves, I lower myself. My vision is only a tunnel that I point to Iri’s tired eyes.
Iri reaches for me, his fingers brushing mine. His eyes are half closed; I suspect mine are, too. The rain doesn’t fall anymore. There isn’t anything to put out the fire of Iri’s wings behind him.
I close my eyes. Our fingers intertwine.
Everything hurts, until all at once, it doesn’t.
14
Fate
Syren
Bear has called forth an army. Men and women alike who remain loyal to the crown rally beside us. Wagons carrying soldiers with weapons strung, following like a parade behind us. Horses equipped for battle chomp at the bit next to us.
Rigs taps his foot slowly against the carriage floor, his eyes catching on everything outside the window. Angry and violent villagers carry their own versions of weapons. Occasionally, rocks hit the roof, bouncing off after a loud, colliding thud.
It’s a new day, and the ash has been washed away from King Iri’s skin. But his eyes are still charcoal lined. Not from any long-lasting eyeliner that Miranda could offer, but from the battle we won yesterday. The most sensitive parts of his body are too hard to wash the evidence from. In time it would fade, just as everything does.
Bandages cover my throat. Magic did its part to heal me quickly, the healers doing what they could to prevent scarring. I still would, though. Even if they suspected that my skin would mend well, and the scales would come back untarnished. Events like these scarred more than your skin.
This whole kingdom is rampant with scars. Citizens bare them physically and mentally from the effects of a few people’s lies. The witch,my mother, will still be tried for her part in these crimes. Though I haven’t a clue how we will address that.
The path we steer down holds us all. The Cruel Fae King, his Cursebreaker, the army that serves, and the citizens who carry the weight of it all on their backs. This is the ceremony they need, not a wedding, but a promise of good health.
Along the horizon, I can see the large ornamental buildings that surround the fountain. Iri reaches up to take my hand that raises to hold the bandage that covers the remainder of the burns. His thumb strokes along mine. A small gesture that makes the pitter-patter of my heart calm with each touch.
Sure enough, the high sun gleams down, shining off the waters that come into view. She is beautiful, I’ll admit, the delicately carved features, the brushed look of the stone. Princesses and especially Queens should be devout in their faith, yet it made me question mine. How much had I been told about Goddess Nature that is a lie used to motivate the church? It is a worrisome thought.
The door opens quietly, and Rigs steps out first. His hand reaches out to guide me down the steps. My dress cascades behind me, vibrant indigo hues dotted with swirls of glittering pearls.It looks like crashing waves,is what Iri had told me this morning, a shy half-smile making him look less drab. It is per his request that I wear this dress, his polite “Will you wear blue for me?”
