“We are here to honor the life of King Radre Bertillian,” Aberfrer said, “one in a long line of Bertillian kings.” He went on and on, elaborating on small deeds to make them seem as though Radre accomplished something during his kingship, but speaking mainly of the great acts of Bertillians long dead.
At last, four stocky servants lowered Radre into the hole. Saris wept quietly beside Wycke. He remained dry-eyed, though his heart ached for the brother he’d lost the day of his birth. The mourners gradually dispersed, but he and Saris stayed after most of the others left, staring at the trio of graves: their mother’s, their father’s, and their brother’s. Their guards kept a discreet distance.
“It’s so quiet here,” Saris said. “I’d forgotten how the snow muffles sound.”
Wycke glanced up to the gray sky. The air seemed cleaner here, though harder to breathe. “You were happy here.”
Saris nodded. “As a girl, when mother was alive, yes. After she died, you were my joy in life.”
“Would you return if you could?”
“To what? No amount of sorcery ever reversed time. Some would see you crowned immediately and assume the role of Myrgren’s king.”
King over what? Between their father and brother, little more than ashes remained of a once grand kingdom. Wycke gave a humorless chuckle. “And some who’d just as quickly see me hanged.”
“What will you do?”
“Fate is entirely in the hands of your mate.” Wycke offered his arm. “Shall we go see what awaits?”
Saris slipped a gloved hand around the offered arm. “As long as we do so together, brother.”
They passed a lone grave outside the family cemetery on their way back to the castle. The stone read, “Lady Nyanda Gimitri.”
Wycke tried wish magic again after the funeral. Nothing. He kept a silent vigil. That night he left the uncomfortable chair to join Piers on the bed. “They buried my brother today. Well, I suppose your mother and my brother.” Very messed up indeed.
Piers didn’t answer, merely breathed in a slow, steady pace.
“The king is better. Aberfrer says we have you to thank, but he doesn’t know how.”
Again, nothing.
“You know, I think I’m well on my way to caring for you deeply.” The confession shocked Wycke, but the words spoken in haste were true. Piers wanted nothing from Wycke but Wycke himself, and regardless of how hard the road, Piers never strayed. A solid friend to have at one’s back. “I’m glad our magic bound us together. I hope one day you’ll feel the same. And I’m not just saying this because we’re stuck with each other.” Wycke dropped a kiss to Piers’ forehead. “Please wake up.” He wouldn’t think about the consequences of being mate-bound forever to a man who might resent the connection—it created too much unease.
Wycke extinguished the candles and settled down for one more night of watching and waiting.
Sunlight streamed through the windows when Wycke next awoke.
Piers blinked opened his eyes. “Damn. How long did I sleep this time? I seemed to be making a habit of long naps.” He reached out, brushing his fingers against Wycke’s face, giving a tired smile.
Awake! Piers opened his eyes at last! Wycke barely restrained himself from pouncing on the man. “Nearly three days.”
Piers shifted into a sitting position, back propped against the headboard. Furrows formed on his brow. “We weren’t here. We were…”
“In the gardens.” Sitting on a bench in the gardens, Piers started to shake… then… For long moments Wycke believed Piers dead.
“What happened?”
“You wore yourself out magically. Though exactly how, no one worked out. But your efforts were successful. Broen continues to improve.”
“What did I do?”
Two quick taps hit the door before Aberfrer entered. It would serve him right if he’d interrupted Wycke and Piers in the middle of something. But knowing the old sod, he’d stick around and enjoy the show, adding commentary on how each act affected their magic.
Not creepy at all.
Aberfrer wore the purple robes of his station. Not good. “I am here to inform you the king has recovered sufficiently and has granted you an audience.”
“What about my sister?” Wycke asked. Granted an audience? More like “demanded your presence.” So Aberfrer must’ve sensed Piers’ wakefulness.
