“I’m sorry, my darling.” I kiss his forehead, then his lips. His body is stiff from the poison, but he manages to blink a few times, letting a few tears fall loose. “I was never afraid to fly,” I whisper as I lift his head and place it in my lap. “I was only afraid to fall.”
His eyes meet mine a final time. I stroke his hair and cheeks until after several excruciating minutes, his chest slows. My tears drop onto his chest, leaving tiny wet marks on his otherwise pristine shirt.
“But now, I’m not afraid at all.” My heart twists and stomach sinks.
His brows pinch together, so I run my thumb between them to smooth his worry. He opens his mouth in a gasp before his chest falls a final time.
Everything in that moment stands still.
Time.
Breathing.
My mind is the only thing moving. Racing through images of the two of us the last few years. Moments of happiness and joy and pain and anger. Of passion and lust and a hopelessness that I confused to be love.
Because that’s what we were. Two hopeless people who found strength in each other. That is what we were, until we weren’t.
Until the idea of power became stronger than the contentment of love.
I clutch onto Galen’s body, savoring the final few minutes of its warmth before he turns cold.
There’s a commotion out my window. Voices rising, chanting something I can’t make out, but I refuse to let go. Refuse to move. I push Galen’s hair from his forehead, the veins in his face and eyelids stained black.
I grip his shoulders and I’m not sure who the tears are for now.
For me or for him.
Everyone I have loved has hurt me and I let them blindly. I took their affection and stored it away to remember when their soft hands turned violent.
The chanting outside the window grows louder. The clang of metal sounds through the rain but I don’t get up. Instead I lie down and place my head next to Galen’s.
I close my eyes.
I breathe him in, one last time.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.
Forty-Seven
Samaria
“Down with the king!Down with the king!” There’s a buzzing in my ears from the relentless yelling around me. Rain falls in buckets, soaking the ground and our clothes.
Men and women from not just Loxley, but the Jade and Onyx Guilds, even those from Wickersham have come together just outside of Valebridge to demand justice. The iron gate juts toward the sky, towering above us, wrapping around the entirety of the courtyard.
Tallulah and Evren flank my sides, as well as the other escaped Enchantresses, including Sera. Our arms link together as we watch a crowd form just inside the walls.
“Down with the king!”
Jarek’s body presses in from behind me, his voice booming over all the others. “How long, my queen, do we wait before we take justice into our own hands?”
I look at the weary-eyed men and women on the other side of the gate. Watching us not with fear or hate, like I’d expected, but with curiosity. One woman comes forth, wrapping her hands around the iron gate. Her eyes are soft, her skin pale and wrinkled.
“Enchantresses,” she shouts above the rising storm. I nod. “May the Mother bless you.” A tear slips from her eye, and before I can speak, a thunderous stomping of boots in the courtyard opposite us has the Valebridge crowd clearing.
