The Desolate Throne

XIX. Looking Forward

Seva sat by Holland's bed, the midnight oil burning away. It cast a warm, flickering, golden light across the pair of them. The former noble wanted to take her lover's hand, but the one remaining was so wrapped in bandages that it wouldn't close around her own. Orobas had worked his sorcery and the elves had tried their magic. Neither could heal the wounds left by the Throne's power. TIME, Orobas had told her, his clawed hand resting on Seva's back to comfort her. THE FUTURE IS POSSIBILITY. HER FATE IS VEILED. She wasn't certain if it made her feel better or worse that he wasn't certain Holland would come back either. At least she wasn't alone in the uncertainty. Seva stroked her lover's hair, though some of the ashen grey strands crumbled at the touch. The hair on her burned side was silver now, as if all the color had been aged out before its time.

Blind eyes suddenly flickered open and Seva saw panic starting to form. Holland was disoriented without her vision. Maybe the penitent even thought herself dead. The blonde reached out, touching Holland's good cheek. "'Tis me," Seva whispered thickly. "Thou art safe." There were no words for how much seeing her lover's injuries had broken her heart, but she would never stop being grateful that Holland was still alive and with her.

"Seva?" The whisper came through stiff, burned lips. It was a quiet and wondering sound.

"Aye." The tears started and Seva couldn't quite stem the flow. She touched her forehead to Holland's gently, mindful of the bandaged burns. "Thou art a beautiful sight."

"Love..." Holland drew in a shaky breath. "...you."

"And I love thee more than life." Seva kissed the good corner of the penitent's mouth. It was as close to her lover's lips as she felt like she could come at the moment. The last thing she wanted to do was injure Holland any further. Reluctantly, she remembered that someone would need to tell Orobas, on the off chance he hadn't heard voices. "Rest. I have to—"

"Stay." Her voice was pleading and soft. It made Seva's heart ache.

"Anything for thee," she said softly, stroking Holland's cheek with her fingertips. The smile was creeping in through the tears. Suddenly, she couldn't stop her lips from curving up at the corners. "Gods' breath, Holland, thou dost ken how to scare a woman half to death."

The next thing Seva knew, Holland was trying to sit up. "The others," the penitent choked out despite the pain. It was her good side and the edges of her burns that hurt her. Most of her left side was so damaged that it was numb.

"Nay," Seva said sharply, holding her down. At the moment, Holland was about as strong as a newborn kitten, so she had no power to resist. "Thy wounds are not ready for thee to be running about. Vladan will be here anon, once he hears thou art awake."

"Ardashir? Khagra?"

The blonde's heart twisted, but she couldn't lie to Holland. "They fell on the field of battle," she said softly, hearing the break in her own voice. "Thou canst see them after thou art permitted to move by the healers. The elves have given them the gift of gentle repose." Lieren had told her that it would preserve the bodies from rot for a time, a charity the elves did not normally extend to any but their own.

Holland looked pained. "I should have—"

"Thou didst all things right, heart of mine." Seva stroked her lover's hair again, trying to offer what comfort she could. "Thou didst end the Princes of Iron. The Imperium fights no longer. 'Tis a victory they would be most proud of thee for. Neither would want thee to plunge into the depths of guilt."

Holland closed her blind eyes. She knew Seva was right, but it still hurt.

Seva heard the door open. They'd been given a room in Losena now that the city was no longer besieged, one of the few that wasn't damaged. Seva hadn't argued with the placement. Holland needed shelter and a bed better than a tent on the field would offer her. Orobas must have heard them talking, because he ducked in.