“But real life doesn’t end happily for everyone!” Aden said, his voice coming out louder than he intended. “Just because you’re disappointed doesn’t mean you should disregard the entire story.”
“I’m not disregarding the entire story, but I am disappointed. I don’t want real life to look like that. If I loved someone that immensely, I would never walk away from them on the eve of battle.” She clutched the back of her chair with one hand, gesturing wildly with the other.
“That’s admirable,” Aden said, “and having seen your courage firsthand, I have no doubt that you would remain on the front line. But don’t you realize that if Andrew had not gone back, they would have lost the entire war? Everyone in the army would have died that day, and their families would have been enslaved.”
“Oh, yes, now I see what you mean,” she said, her voice thick with sarcasm. “You would have no problem abandoning someone you loved, just like you ran away from your family!”
Aden stood. The force of his abrupt movement sent the chair behind him toppling. “Enough!” he roared. “You have no idea what you are talking about.” The thunder of his rage exploded out from him, shaking every item in the room and reverberating off the tall stone walls.
Blood filled his vision and the room around him turned black.
Reining in his anger, he took a few stabilizing breaths. As his sight returned, he thought Isa had left the room.
A movement behind her chair drew his attention. She had been cowering behind it. She slowly stood, backing away from him. “Neither do you.”
“Isa!” He lifted his hands to cover his face in shame. “I’m so sorry. I... I don’t know what came over me. I’m so sorry.”
She did not respond.
When he withdrew his hands, she had left the room.
Having lost his own appetite, Aden walked back to his own room. Somehow, before he even opened the door, he knew that the rose had lost another petal. He was right.
He was right.
Interim
Salt.
His first conscious thought was salt. Everywhere. It was in his nose, his throat, his eyes—even his stomach felt upset, like it had been dried from the inside out with salt.
He was alive. And it felt terrible.
He coughed, trying to expel the bitter flavor from the back of his throat. But lying on one’s back was not ideal for coughing, and his attempt devolved into a choking gag.
He tried to roll over to his side. His limbs refused to move.
His skin itched, everywhere. Probably from all the salt.
His eyes burned as he tried to crack them open. Even that tiny movement was painful, with his eyelids as dry as they were.
The sun beat down on him, warming him from above while the sand baked him from below.
He remembered getting on the ship with his squadron of the elite guard. The storm had hit when they were a few hours away from the shore. It had appeared instantaneously. The clear blue sky had been blocked from view by waves that could have eclipsed a mansion.
It was no ordinary storm.
The Majis were demonstrating that they were the ones who controlled the sea.
He felt as though he were about to fall over, even though he was already lying down. His tongue, stuck to the top of his mouth, begged for water.
Every breath smelled and tasted of salt. His stomach turned.
The massive wave had crashed over their ship, smashing it into pieces with its crushing force. His last conscious memory was one of complete terror.
The discomfort in his stomach grew as he realized how helpless they were against such unrestrained power.
He forced himself to breathe deeply, turning the discomfort to anger.
