People died all the time, and no one announced their death’s coming. Suppose he wasn’t fated to live forever.
But to die a mortal man.
The room swum with smoke; the scent of incense clawed at his nose. Skyre sat at the foot of the bed, head in his hands as a distant voice teased…
I want to be a good king.
He had once imagined his life, drenched in courage and victory. A man upon his great steed, decorated in gold. And wherever he would go, the people would sing in praise, safe and strong beneath his shadow.
That image, like most things in his life, had proved illusion.
The door creaked open, and soft footsteps pattered the floorboards. He did not look up until he felt her weight beside him.
“My heart?”
Words clogged his throat.
“Please, talk to me.”
From the moment the crown touched his head, he had walked a path of fire, but not in glory. His feet bled. The ground turned to rot beneath them. He was a son of Sun. And yet all around him the flame burned cold. Instability… mistrust… now, even the heaven’s eyes closed.
“All my life,” he whispered, “I was your golden boy. But the Sun has never felt so far. Máta, I fear we’re on the eve of something terrible.”
“Do not be overrun by dark thoughts,” she said, stroking back his hair. “The Sun is forever behind you, even as you walk into shadow.”
He wanted to tell her all that he knew. He wanted to tell her everything. He wanted to be as close to God as she made him seem.
“The An’Atherin… They wouldn’t… betray me, would they?”
“Betray you?” she gasped. “Oh, my darling, who has filled your mind with such things?”
He looked away. “The Oracle dying… the way it all happened… If there was something wrong, you would tell me. Wouldn’t you?”
“Mirín, rid yourself of these quandaries. Your mind has been muddled by foul air.”
“Muddled?” His mouth was dry and fists tight. He knew of what she spoke. Ofwhom. And maybe… she was right. He had been led astray. The druid… He’d allowed himself to fall and gone crawling at his feet.
And he did not regret it.
“My mind has never been more clear,” he said. “For a moment, in that forest, I grasped at goodness. Yet here it is being bled from me again.”
Her eyes widened, but she did not speak, even as he felt her hand tremble on his.
“Why should I hate them? Why should I fear their way of life? Why did I justify doing what I did to him?”
“Skyre…”
“I ken it. They’re heathens. And yet, for a moment, no one judged me. Not until I… showed them what I really am.” He shook his head, weak and woefully weary. “I dinnae want to destroy anymore, but build. Yet, my hands have never sown. My words have never tilled. Can I truly be a king who sutures wounds… or will the fire bury me for my duplicity?”
He met her watery gaze.
“Are you afraid of me?”
She shook her head. “No, my darling. Neverofyou. Onlyforyou. As I have always been.” She brushed his cheek. “When you were young, a wee bairn in my arms, they told me you would never die, and still, too precious you were to risk. Why do you think I never let you train with fire? I was too afraid to take that chance.”
He chuckled weakly. “And would you urge me against him? For my safety?”
Her arms wound around him and he sank into the embrace.
