Wren’s words hang in the air between us all. I never imagined what it would be like to love someone this way. Two someones. They are so different, as the sun is from the moon—And to me now, as far away as either of those.
“Can you leave if you want to?” I say to him, not opening my eyes to see his reply.
“I do not know. I do not know.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Vonetta
I’m walking the familiar trek toward the Lady’s dwelling. My feet are bare as I tread my path, and the soft green covering of the ground is cool and damp with the night underneath them. The white shift floats around my ankles, grazing my skin with the flowing fabric.
Every star feels visible, and the moon hangs heavy in the sky.
The gentle flicker of a candle is visible in her window, just beyond the mirror pool. But she is not within her home this night. She is kneeling by the water, her long and graying hair trailing down her back. Her head is bent over the water, and her hands rest on her knees.
When I kneel beside her, she does not acknowledge me. I open my mouth to greet her, but no words come out.
When I reach out for her, my hand passes through her as if I were made of mist. I am here, but I am not. I turn my attention to the surface of the pool, its waters are still this night and look like glass against the night sky. Though I wait, no image or movement appears on its face. I try to ground myself in the land, but no energy rises up to meet me. I am disconnected from this place, untethered to the earth beneath me.
“Vonetta,” the Lady says, speaking into the night. But not to me. She speaks to the pool before her. Passing her hand through its glassy surface. No ripples. “You must find a way through this. Heal this land, heal your Trinity.”
I cannot answer her, I cannot tell her I do not know how to do what she asks. Because I am not here. My mind has found its way to the realm of dreams. I reach out for the mirror in front of me, my hands slipping into the inky black surface. I lean into it, consumed by it. Willingly taken into its depths.
…
I wake gasping for air.My skin is covered in a thin sheen of sweat. As if I truly had emerged from the pool and back into our chambers in Nerine. I struggle to focus my eyes on my surroundings. My head pounds and I feel drained of energy, though I was asleep. I take deep gulping breaths, the air filling my lungs. They burn as if I have been deprived of it. I do not often dream, but when I do, it is in vision. I have not had one since before leaving my home on the Isle. I steady my hands on the bedding, holding myself up and straining to regain my composure.
I feel like I truly did plunge myself into the black waters. Never before has waking from one been so overwhelming.
After a few breaths, I am slightly calmer, and my eyes have adjusted to the darkness of the great room. Chiron sleeps fitfully, his tensed face shimmers with moisture, and his arms are splayed out across the down pillows. Circles have formed underneath his eyes, and the shadows cast by his lashes give them an eerie appearance.
I look to the settee, but Wren is not there. He sits in his chair, head tipped back and arms folded across his chest. As I watch him, I realize that he does not sleep. His eyes are open, though it is hard to see them from across the room. I consider speaking to him, but I do not. I do not know what Vestera saw in the mirror that had her calling my name. I do not know how to fix the betrayal between us three.
Perhaps if the Lady were here, I would have someone to confide in. As it stands, I cannot tell anyone what has occurred between us. I do not know many things about being a ruler, but I understand that we must be perceived as united. I wish it were so…
Wren’s soft voice breaks through my thoughts, carrying across the room to me from his spot in the corner. “I never planned to leave, Netta. I didn’t.” His words cut through me, salt in the wound that is the last several days between us. From the very first morning after we were joined, Wren has shunned us both. First, by refusing to appear with us at the Nephrys estate, and every moment after that, he has stayed away from our bed. Does he not understand the nature of this bond? We are not whole without him. We can never be whole without him.
“Did you plan to stay, Wren?” I whisper to him, “We are neither together nor separate right now. We are fractured. Nothing good can come from that.”
He remains quiet for a long while, face tilted to the ceiling, considering my question.
I look again at Chiron, unconscious on the bed next to me. I cannot speak to his wounds. But his relationship with Wren was a quiet thing. I am reminded of our short time at the cabin, watching them together in the domesticity of life. The sadness nearly overcomes me when I realize we will only ever be able to steal moments like that for the rest of our lives.
Being the Trinity comes with the burden of always being the public face of the Kingdom.
I come to from my contemplation when I see Wren rise from his seat and walk toward me. He approaches tentatively, rounding the side of the bed and then sitting beside me there. Now that his face is closer to me, I can see just how tired and drawn he is. I do not know how much time has passed this night, but I know Wren has slept for none of it.
Chiron and I have taken to our duty to the Kingdom in similar ways. I have not always known that this would be my calling, but I did accept it when it was put on me. Chiron has always known without question that he would represent Nerine, and he would be a King.
But Wren? I realize I do not know enough about his life before to say why he cannot cope with our circumstances. Wren’s hands are folded together in his lap. His gaze is steady but far away from here.
“Wren?” I ask him. I consider reaching out to him again, but once more I think better of it and clasp my hands together in front of me. “Why did you go to Caelestis in the first place? You told me that your parents were farmers, that you traveled. But why did you choose the Isle?” His eyes focus on me, and a different kind of sadness is there now. An old wound, unhealed behind them.
“I had a brother,” He begins, looking down first at his hands and then turning his head toward the fireplace. “He was a couple of years older than me. He was the smartest man I ever knew. We didn’t really get to be educated, traveling with my folks from town to town with the harvests. But he read. Everywhere we went, he read. He taught himself, and then he taught me. He would read to me every night. It didn’t matter if it was a history book or a tale for children; without fail, I always fell asleep to a story from him. He was my only friend.”
Wren stops, turning his face to me. He winces, pained from reliving the memories he shares. I nod my head to him. I hope that it conveys that I want him to continue. I fear that speaking now would only give him reason to end this conversation. Wren passes a hand through his hair, drawing it away from his face, and then shaking his head a little so that it falls back into place.
“My parents did not understand it, they did not approve of it. We were honest working people, they said. So when Bran wanted to go to the Isle of Men to study, they forbade it. They kept him busy every single day. Up before the sun and working long after it had gone back down. I was sixteen. They worked him to exhaustion, Netta. The farms we worked and lived on, they were not what you can expect to find in the capital. They were dirty and run mostly by the migrant families, like mine, for people like the Nephrys. Run by children, essentially.”
