We would never be the same.
Because DaiSzek, the one true king, was gone.
83. Soulmates in Life and Death
Skylenna
Seventy -three years old
“And remember how I toldyou Ruth clawed out Apple May’s eyes when she threatened me that day?!” I ask Dessin while he’s cleaning up the wrapping paper off the ballroom floor.
Our family and friends have finally left after a long week of celebrating Christmas with us. Screaming children filled these halls. Warrose, old and grumpy, wore muffs over his ear to block out the noise. Ruth laughed at his expense. Our granddaughters sat on Dessin’s lap while he read the old Christmas tales they beg him to read every year.
I gave a speech about how fulfilling my life has been with so much love and so many children.
And now that everyone’s gone home, hundreds of years in the future, I get to tell Dessin the theatrics I get to hear that he isn’t privy to.
“I remember.”
“Good, good. Your memory has been spotty lately,” I explain.
He coughs out a laugh. “My memory is flawless.”
“Mmm. I don’t think so.”
“You think yours is better?” He tosses the leftover wrapping paper in the fireplace.
“Of course,” I say innocently.
“Skylenna, my sweetheart, you left the door open last night and tried to convince me we’d been robbed this morning.”
I grimace at him. “We don’t know I’m the one who left it open.”
“I watched you leave it open. When I tried to close it, you said, and I quote—‘leave it open! We need fresh air. You scared of getting robbed or something?’”
“I think you’re making that up.”
Dessin throws his head back to laugh, charging forward to lift me off my feet and spin me around to dance.
“Careful! I have arthritis!” I scold.
“No, you do not.”
“Yes, I do. I hate when you say that.”
“Have you been diagnosed?”
“By who? It’s just you and me here, dummy.”
He laughs again, kissing my temple. “Me. I could diagnose you.”
“I have diagnosed myself, and that’s good enough for me.”
“I’d believe you if you didn’t conveniently complain of that pesky arthritis every time we had to clean the kitchen.”
I giggle into his chest, and we continue dancing until I get a little lightheaded, and my husband carries me upstairs to our bedroom in the east wing of the castle.
“You already forgot you were telling me a story,” Dessin murmurs in my ear, nuzzling his nose against the side of my head.
