The Archshade

Forty-Five

No cold. No emptiness. A floating weightlessness. Pain gone. Memory gone.

A distant flash of something precious. A faint whisper of something loved. But lost.

All lost. But no sadness. A peace. A stillness stretching beyond everything. No body. No skin. Boundless. Endless. A oneness. Beyond confinement. Shapeless and infinite. Inexhaustibly beautiful.

A strong force. Unyielding. A grip on me. A grip around my arms, around my wrists, around my throat.

Something pulls me from the deep.

A wild gasp rips from my chest.

Agonizing breaths flood my stalled lungs as every sense returns in a rush. My eyes snap open, taking in an explosion of shadow and color. My restarted pulse pounds in my ears from the force of my coughs and gasps. Every organ shudders and aches with the jolt of sudden life.

"Gods! Is she alright?!"

"Give her a moment."

Two voices reach my restored ears, triggering a memory. Most of the sights and sounds engulfing me go unrecognized. Just a blur. But bit by bit, the confused haze in my head fades, restoring my memory and bringing me back to the Imperial Gardens... back to our escape... back to my death...

I look down at my violently trembling hand. It's still smeared with warm blood, but when I lift it from my abdomen, there's only smooth flesh beneath. Not even a scar.

"Zahra..."

I feel him now, holding me to his chest. His warmth envelopes me, coaxing heat back into my own veins. I look up, expecting a face I've never seen and eyes I know so well, but something in the back of my mind signals danger.

Green eyes.

Black hair.

Bronze skin.

Sharp jaw.

Smooth brow.

I see it all in an instant, and every part of his face is already familiar to me. I recoil, trying to push myself away, trying to free myself from his hold, but my entire body prickles with pins and needles. My nerves spark and fizzle as they reinvigorate, trying to remember how to be alive.

"No... let... go..." Hoarse and jagged, the words force themselves out of my throat. "No... Darcron..." I try again to escape the dark prince's grasp, but his arms tighten around me, holding me tight.

"Everything is alright."

I stop squirming as the High Prince whispers in my ear, perplexingly soft and gentle.

"Darcron is gone," he says.

As the final shreds of haziness dissipate from my mind, I look back up at the prince. Again, I see the same strong chin, the same carved cheekbones, and the same mane of charcoal black waves. But as I look closer, the differences begin to emerge. The strong chin is contrasted by soft lips and the slightest overbite, while the black hair is a bit longer and wilder. The carved cheekbones have a subtle tilt, and the smooth brow has evidence of smile lines. Yet, of all these differences, I'm only fully convinced by the eyes. Those green glass wells of kindness shimmer with unshed tears as they look down at me. My shaking hand reaches up to his face, tracing the edge of his brow. A single touch just to know he's real. Just to know I'm alive.

"Daynar...?"

Unable to speak past his emotions, Daynar tightens his arms around me and nods.

"You brought... me back..." I croak.

As he holds me to his chest, I breathe in his subtle scent. No longer tinged with the rancid smell of the Rot, he's only a warm ginger sweetness mixed with soft earthen musk. I reach for his hand, running my fingertips over the soft, bronze skin. No longer withered and torn, his hands are smooth to the touch. I lightly trace the soft, pink flesh above the solid edge of his renewed thumbnail, doubting its existence. The image of peeling sallow skin, missing fingernails, knuckles raw with blister sores, and white bone through blackened muscle was burned so deep into my mind, but it now feels like a dream—a nightmare I conjured to make Daynar the monster I once needed him to be.