Luminous

71 - Dying Wish

One nudge at a time, Sylvia urged the ruined arrowhead out of her son's feeble grasp. The Lattis bolt was warm and damp with sweat as it rested in her palms. He had treasured the memory—and yet, he had forgotten it. It didn't make sense.

"Why can't you remember?" She mused, more to lament than to demand an answer. Kellis pressed the pads of his fingers into his forehead, as if hoping it would dull the pain.

"Dragon blood. And, as far as I know, there is but one living Greeneye in Crosset."

Sylvia froze as the inkling coursed through her like a flash of pure agony. She stared at her husband as he observed Coris in his troubled sleep, his shadowed face pensive and unfathomable.

"Why haven't you told him?" She rasped as fury curdled into a roar in her throat. Kellis shook his head,

"He doesn't remember her. And she's a peasant. What if he falls for her? He can't marry a commoner."

Sylvia was tempted to throw her head back and swear to the heights.

"What does that matter at this point? Lexi's losing hope by the day! He's dying!" She snapped, her voice cracking at the foul, poisonous taste of that last word in her throat.

"And I'm afraid, Sylvia—" For the first time, Kellis raised his gaze to face hers. His wide eyes quivered as horribly as his voice, "She may be the only thing keeping him alive. Once his wait is over—"

Silence interluded, solid and cold—so cold that Sylvia couldn't even manage a blink, as the truth in those blue eyes seeped into hers.

"Oh, Freda." She bent over her son and draped a protective arm down his back, trembling with fury, "Kellis, what have you done? What have you been giving him?!"

She exploded. Kellis hesitated, then his eyes slid to the side. Sylvia followed them to the bedside table, where Coris's nightly laudanum vial sat glinting in the firelight. She picked it up, uncorked it and held it to her nose. Once the sickly sweet aroma of opium tincture had dispersed, for a split-second, the hidden notes of blood and metal flooded her nostrils. Her fingers trembled as she stuffed the cork back in.

"The mixture has healing properties. He's recover—"

Sylvia couldn't bear to let him finish. She bolted up and slapped the vial against his cheek. The malignant vial fell and rolled gleaming on the carpet. The baroness crumbled to a heap over her son, shaking with stifled sobs.

Kellis clenched his jaw as he waited out the throbbing pain and his wife's heartbreak. He rested a nervous hand on her river of dark brown hair—she thrust it off in disgust, burrowing her face deeper into Coris's shoulder. He tried again—

"I can't bear to lose him, Sylvia. He means more to me than my life—more than Hadrian—and definitely more than The Axel—"

"—Then let him live!" Sylvia's cry rented the silence like a clap of lightning. Silvery eyes blazed on her tear-streaked countenance. Kellis reared back, stunned. "Strike a deal with Crosset. Call in every Lady in the three lands—but let him choose—let him remember. Look at him! Hasn't he sacrificed enough already?"

Sylvia cupped their son's gaunt face in her hands as she screeched across the bed at him, then fell back onto Coris. She dried her tears against his cheek, whispering as if in mourning,

"Lexi—"

Sylvia's muted sobs rippled the suffocating silence. Somewhere in the shadows, Coris's clepsydra dripped steadily, marking the seconds as they trickled by. Kellis closed his eyes and let out a long breath. He bent down and retrieved the phial he had tampered with, then poured its contents onto the fire.