"Darius? Darius!"
"What?" I look up, finding Lance and Garrison looking down at me with furrowed brows.
I zoned out again.
It's been happening a lot recently. People will be talking, either to me or amongst themselves, and my mind will just go blank. It's not the whole zoning out where I start thinking about other things and get distracted, but the one where there's literally nothing. I just tune everything out and stare blankly in front of me.
I know I've done it today more than before, likely because I saw Clarice today. She was so...frail. Not as thin and sickly as she was a cycle ago, but she still looked ghostly. She felt ghostly. My power tugged towards her as it usually does, but that wasn't what had me standing so still. It was her eyes. They recognized me, yet at the same time, they never found me.
She wore clothes that she'd normally fill out perfectly in every way, and the coat she wore with the feather lining made her look regal despite the still thinness of her. I didn't want to look at her, just as I do not wish to think of her, and yet she was still there. She never said a word whilst we stood across from her in the hallways, but a part of me knows that it was best that we didn't. We all might've cracked had we heard it, heard the words we've only imagined hearing before. At least, they would've cracked, I'm already fucked up as is.
And yet you still feel spiderweb cracks slowly forming the longer you think about her, a voice says in my head.
"Darius." My eyes snap back up to Lance.
Shit. I did it again.
"Are you alright?" Garrison asks, reaching out a hand towards me as if to catch me if I fall out of my chair.
I hate this chair, hate the gold paint I've been picking at, hate the matching carved desk in front of me filled with papers. Reports, things that need signing, things that I need to decide, all piling up as the day goes on. This used to be my father's desk. He would sit in this chair and go through each pile while I would play with whatever toy I had found the most interesting that day. All these memories and Clarice doesn't even have one.
"Maybe we should have Tanith put him to sleep." My eyes shoot back up again, and I mentally stab myself for zoning out. Again.
"No, no. I'm fine. I'm fine," I insist when they both open their mouths to suggest otherwise. "What were you saying?"
"Lord Roland is waiting outside," Garrison answers slowly, still considering the Tanith option. "He wants to talk to you. About your father."
Right. My father. The father who left after crowning me King without a single instruction as to what the hell I'm supposed to be doing. I suppose my lack of understanding on the job is partially my fault, as I always chose to be menacing to learn the duties I'd inherit. Still, he left, gave Roland a letter that said my claim to the throne was legitimate and rightfully given, and disappeared again. Who knows when he'll resurface again - if he resurfaces again.
I glance at the clock on the mantel, reading it somewhere around six-thirty. Gods and their Saints it's been five hours sitting in this chair. I shift in my seat once, trying to find a position that doesn't make my butt feel hard as stone. "Send him in."
They both hesitate to move, and I rub at my temples until Garrison leaves to go get Roland.
"Darius-"
"I'm fine."
"You don't sound fine, heathens, you definitely don't look fine."
"Lance-"
"When are you going to let us in? Not confiding in me, I get it, I haven't known you as long as the others, but the Bhaltayr, Darius...they've known you most of your life. Locking everything within yourself will only destroy you further - I mean, look what it did to your father. You can't shut people out, not when you need them the most. Not when they need you the most. They're family, Darius, you don't push away family. Believe me when I say that having more family to help you through the rough times, is better than having no family to lean on."
I don't even get a second to think about his words before Garrison walks back in, Lord Roland now dressed in warmer clothing on his heels.
"My king," Roland greets, bowing at the waist. You'd think I'd be semi-used to the full bow everyone now gives me, but I'm not. I'm used to people only dipping their chins in my presence, and I didn't even like that. "Thank you for agreeing to see me."
"Please, sit, Lord Roland."
He sits down, Lance and Garrison standing at the ends of the desk. I highly doubt Lord Roland of all people is stupid enough to try and lunge for me, but I'm not in the mood to dismiss them. If I do, then I'll have to repeat all that is said to them later, and I'm in desperate need of my bed and a good night's rest.
"I assume you want to know all the details of your father's visit to my city?"
I nod, clearing my head before I zone out again.
"Well, it was on Vercurii, the first day of this month, that he showed up at the gates of my estate. I was awoken by one of my servants late in the night, and he told me that there was a man waiting for me in my office. He refused to give a name as well as remove his hood for my people to identify, but they let him because he had the King's seal. When I went down to meet with him, he wouldn't say a word until I dismissed everyone out of the house. That's when he revealed himself. He told me all he knew, and everything you've told him. After filling me in, he told me about his decision to relinquish his crown and pass it on to you. He made me swear in my loyalty to your family and then made me swear to bring his signed and sealed written word as confirmation that the crown is indeed yours. He made me swear many other things that night, and by the time we had finished speaking, it was dawn."
"What else did he make you swear?"
"To assist you in any way you need and ask for. To help guide you through the duties of a King - a great king. To ensure that the Court would either support you or be...dealt with."
"King Neven asked you to assassinate any of those within the Court who opposed Darius?" Garrison asks.
"It wasn't in his exact wording, but the implication was clear, yes. Worry not, seeing as you dealt with Julyanus quite nicely, I've kept my own men at my side. Not to mention that I'm sure your own assassins could very well do the job for you," he says with a pointed glance at Lance. There's no sign of hatred or resentment in his eyes, perhaps a little awe, however.
"So you are to essentially be my hand?"
"More so a...mentor. The choice of who is to have the title is still yours to decide."
"And as my mentor, who would you suggest I appoint the position?"
He doesn't answer right away, which only makes me more nervous as to what his answer will be. "Someone you trust. Someone you know will always have your best interest at heart, and someone you know for a fact you could very well trust to potentially run the kingdom in your absence, but at the same time, a person who would happily and easily relinquish said power the moment you returned. If you have no one like that here, then you have no one to appoint."
Trust. One of the many issues I am currently struggling to keep a grip on. No one in my confidence has betrayed me yet, so my trust issues aren't as damaged as Lance's or his sisters or the rest of their assassins for that matter. However, war makes you question things such as trust, and so I find myself in a dilemma once more.
I glance at Garrison, still keeping his eyes on the Lord. He's the head of my personal guard, it wouldn't be much of a surprise to make him my hand. The only issue is that he's as vulnerable as me when it comes to snuffing out his anger. I may not be physically expressive with it, but I know when others notice how quickly the wind starts moving or how suddenly it stops. Garrison has never been one for politics either, but I know he'd be happy to suffer its ordeals for my sake. Him, I can trust without second-guessing it, but I'm not going to be selfish and put him in a position of misery or weariness.
Another glance at Lance, and I already know my answer to the idea of him as my hand. Thralia will need a ruler, and when it comes down to it, it's going to be Clarice who takes up that throne. Lance will follow, especially since having already lost her in recent days he's not going to want to leave her side ever again. I won't take that from him, I won't be the cause of his own dilemmas in the future of having to choose between me and his sister, though to be honest, we all know I was never really competition.
Everyone else I trust has purposes of their own. Kat will undoubtedly follow Lance, Siscilla is the Anevay, Aillard is a Thralian who will want to return to his homeland, the Ginerva are bound to Thralia, Thomas isn't built for the position, Aracely would much rather suffer a beating than deal with the Court, - she said that earlier - and despite his claims and oaths to my father, Lord Roland doesn't have my entire trust for me to give the position to him.
"The decision doesn't have to be made now," Roland says, noticing my conflicted expression. "In fact, many people of the kingdom likely wouldn't notice if you don't have a hand."
At least I can rest easy on the case, and I gained a mentor and still have the advice of people I trust. There's still something that bothers me though. "Why would my father go to you? Why go west to Lander?"
His expression turns melancholy, but he picks it out quickly and goes neutral. "Your father and I...we used to be friends - more than friends. Brothers who needed no blood relation to call each other such."
"What happened?" Lance asks.
"The only thing that could ever turn two men on each other. A girl."
"My mother?" I guess.
"No. The cousin of your mother. Long story short, we met her at a ball. We both fell for her, and we fought day and night to win her favor. We joked with stabs to each other's pride, but soon those jokes became actual insults. We wanted her to choose. Future King, or future Lord."
"She chose you...?" Garrison asks though he's likely just as confused as I am. My mother didn't have a cousin who was a Lady.
"No, she never got the chance to make her choice. She died. She and a few other maidens of the noble families were having a picnic in the elephant grass fields. Neven and I were attending a meeting with the Court when a runner came in and said that they were being attacked. By the time any reinforcements arrived, before we could arrive, they were all dead. Including Caroline."
I ransack my brain for the name, but I find nothing. My mother's not one to talk much about her family, let alone those who have passed. "Who killed them?"
"Assassins, sent by someone who knew exactly how to cover their tracks and tie up their loose ends. We never found out who, though if the Jade Assassins had already been established, I would've paid a pretty penny to have you find out for me," he tells Lance.
"I'm sure we could still find the cracks in the armor," Lance smirks. "After the hell-bent future ahead of us, of course."
Roland smiles contently to himself, but you can see that there's a part of him that doesn't think Lance and the Jades can find anything. "I should be going, I promised Lady Evangeline an evening."
"Another one?" We all look at Lance in surprise. Clearly, he's been keeping information from me, and I'm not necessarily happy about it. Though I'll admit, the surprise is rather pleasing.
"I should've known better than to think I could keep secrets in a castle full of spies," Roland sighs, running at his forehead.
"The castle has always been full of spies, my ears are just better, and you weren't necessarily hiding your whereabouts."
"I would've used the old tunnels, but Neven mentioned your knowledge of them, so..."
"So you and Lady Evangeline..."
"Should I plan for a wedding after this war, my Lord?" I tease lightly, a small smile tugging at my lips. A wedding after all of this hell doesn't sound so bad.
He shakes his head. "It's not like that."
"You didn't return to your rooms until this morning," Lance points out.
Roland tries to explain. Emphasis on the word tries. In the end, he settles deeper into his chair. "Not that it's any business of yours, but Evangeline has made it clear that she wishes no future for the two of us."
"Why not?"
"She has her reasons, and I...I care for her too much to deny her her choice," he states without an ounce of sadness.
"And yet she asks that you stay the night in her rooms," I lead on.
"I know it's hard to understand, but despite her ultimate choice she can't so easily rid of the feelings she has. No one could ever do such a thing, not without clawing their own heart out."
"Some may beg to differ."
His eyes focus harder on me, and I know what he sees. The boy he once knew, optimistic and rebellious and a menace, he doesn't see him. He sees someone else, someone who would beg to differ.
"Is this about Evangeline or your Lily?" I feel myself flinch at the name, feel Lance and Garrison watch me closely through the corner of their eyes. It's the only emotion that's ever there, a flinch, an ache, a small prick of a person that was once my entirety. Gods I'm depressed to the point that I'm annoying myself.
"Forgive me, I don't know her by any other name."
"Clarice," Lance answers quietly, glancing over at me as if expecting a flame to spark to life any moment. "Another alias, but a better one to use."
I feel Roland look back at me, but I've averted my eyes back down to the papers on my desk. I'm no master in love or the beginnings of it, I'm too young to understand or even begin to understand what love is and means. I say I love her, I said I felt a strong feeling I could only label as love, but how do I know it's love? How can I be sure? How do I know that what I felt will still be there when she remembers?
"Darius." Slowly, I meet Roland's gaze once more. "I cannot give you advice if I do not know what I'm supposed to give you advice on."
This could be a trick to get me to fess up as to why Clarice hasn't been seen. Gods know the Court is sneaky in their ways of getting information. Whereas the assassins use torture, the Court uses deception. They feign sympathy and concern, but really they're just looking for a way to pull a coup. But what would this knowledge do? It's bound to get around sooner or later and considering she's already been seen today, I wouldn't put it past people to have already started spreading rumors.
Either way, I'm lost. I need an unbiased look on the matter, and every time I look at my friends, I can see their yearns and pleas. They want me to go to her, even if they're scared as to what to do when they see her themselves. Both Garrison and Lance look at me now, waiting for me to make a decision, but I don't return their stares. If I do, then I'll see nothing but their own pleas in their eyes, and that makes everything worse.
I look back to Roland. "The man who attacked the castle, his name is Xaxias. He tortured Clarice, much to your knowledge, but that wasn't all he did. He took her memories. Everyone and everything from her past, she doesn't remember."
He nods slowly but gives no reaction aside from that. "Thankful as I am to you for trusting me with that information, and swear it on my life that I won't tell a soul, but something tells me that that is not necessarily an issue you need my advice on."
Once again I hesitate, not necessarily zoning out, but still letting my thoughts shoot about. I haven't admitted this to anyone yet, which makes this so much worse than I care to admit. Something tells me that Garrison and Lance already know anyway, so I don't know why I'm entirely holding back. I'm still horrible at keeping a neutral face.
"I don't...I can't...I can't feel like I used to. Emotions escape me now. Joy is something I have to dig to find in order to smile, sadness is a thing that plagues me so much I can't even tell if it's there or not. Anger is the most prominent thing I feel and even that's only at certain moments. It holds longer and hits me more strongly than the others. It started after...it got worse when we got her back."
He doesn't respond, barely even reacting aside from the slight narrowing of his eyes. He's still waiting, just like me. I know in my mind what I want to ask, I know what I want to know and what I want to hear. My mouth, however, can't seem to form words.
Fear. I'm not saying anything out of fear. Normally when you feel scared you can identify it right away. The tightening of your chest, the quickness of your breathing, the sweat gathering on your brow and palms. Now it's like I have to search for it, dig deep into myself until my mind recognizes what it is that's happening. I'm scared, yes because I don't want to be told that what I feel isn't strong, or at least what I did feel and hopefully will feel again. I question it daily, question it when it shouldn't be questioned.
All I have is doubt and fear and no one to tell me if it's okay, or if it'll slowly consume me to the point of killing me slowly. It's pain yet it's bliss. It's drowning, but floating in the sunlight. It's breathing so easily that you forget all the horrible things and simply spread your arms wide to take in the warmth of the world. I can describe it, but I can't feel it, and that's the most frightening thing of all.
"Why don't you two wait outside the door," I hear Roland say. Lance and Garrison slowly leave the room, and a moment later the Lord and I are alone in silence. "Spit it out, Darius."
I hate how easily my mouth works now. I hate that he knew that I didn't want to say anything in front of friends, in front of the people who have been silently begging me to speak. "Do you love her? Evangeline."
He gives me a look telling me that he knows it's not the question I really want to be answered, but he answers nonetheless. "More than I initially thought I would."
"And what of Caroline and your wife?"
"Love is a...vulnerable thing. Despite beliefs and whatever bonds the Gods place between two people, there is never such a thing as one true love. I thought there was when I saw Caroline, thought that I'd never again feel such pain and grief as I did when she died, but then I met Milla, and I found myself once more ensnared by the choking emotion.
"I fell for her more slowly than I did with Caroline. It took a year before I realized my feelings for her were becoming something more. After that, it didn't take long before I put a ring on her finger. And now I find that the friendship Eve and I had built since we were young is...something other - in a good way."
"But how do you know? How did you know that what you felt for Caroline was love?"
"I didn't, not until I lost her. I mean, sure, your father and I took one look at her and thought she was the most beautiful person in the kingdom, but what teenage boys aren't puffing out their chests to lay with such serene people? I lost Caroline, felt my heart cleave in two, maybe more pieces, and I can never get what I felt for her back. I've fallen in love three times Darius, and all three have different colors to the love I've felt for them, colors I'll never feel the same way again, but that's okay."
"Yeah, but - I..." Gods be damned why is it so hard to ask the question?
"You want to know if what you're feeling is love, or if it's something else." He smiles at my likely hopeful expression. It's hard to tell since I have no mirror and am too mentally tired to control my face. "I cannot tell you, Darius. Love feels different for every person. Milla and I used to talk about it. My love for her was like an eternal flame. Never could it be extinguished, and only would it burn those who sought to put it out. Her love for me, as she described, was like the sun. It warmed her skin until it reached her heart, and no matter what darkness came, she could always count on it to rise come morning.
"You are the only one who can know if what you feel is love or not, Darius, but if I'm being entirely plain, I'd say you're in the thickest of it."
I blink at him, entirely confused as to how all of this could be the thickest of love. It doesn't feel like it.
Months ago when I first came here to the castle with Eleanor, and you and Clarice were pretending to be in love, it was...hard to tell. Eleanor would continuously bicker about you two, always calling the touching and looks a lie, but I've been in love twice before Evangeline, so I know a thing or two about what it looks like to be unmistakeably infatuated with someone. Even then you two screamed the word love, and I'll bet my money that if you two were in the same room, despite what she may or may not remember, that scream would still be a battle cry."
Because even though I distance myself from her, I'm still fighting for her. I'll always fight for her, and maybe that's a sign of love, or maybe it's a sign of obsession or mother hen protectiveness over a killing machine damsel who doesn't need a prince in her story to rescue her. Maybe it's just the result of everything I feel and all the stress and fear gathering around me as the days go by and we wait for an attack.
Maybe it's this, maybe it's that. Maybe I'll never know what it is, but I know it's strong, and I know it's roaring like the last dragon chained far beneath the earth that simply wants to be let out to fly.
Lord Roland stands, and I snap my eyes to his hoping he'll give me something more to go on. "Think about what I've said to you for an hour or two, and after that, let your mind wander. Don't fight where it wants to go or who it wants to think about, just...set it free. Then, as you lay in your bed to fall asleep, count how many times you thought of her. If the answer is once, then you love her, and you should go to her and never leave her side."
"Why once? Why wouldn't love be thinking of a person multiple times?"
"Love means that you never truly stop thinking about them. They enter your mind, imprint their touch, taste, and feel onto your heart, and then they never leave. No matter where they go, what they remember, or who they become, your love for them never leaves. It's always there, even in death. You think of them once, and then they're there forever."
He leaves without another word, and then I'm left sitting in my office alone with nothing but my thoughts. I should call Lance and Garrison back in and get rid of this stack of papers, but...
I end up pushing the pile aside and sit back in my chair, resting my head against the back of it while I close my eyes, and I let my mind wander.
*****
I was dreaming, of what I can't remember, but I know I was. At least, that was before I fell off of my bed trying to find a cold spot on the sheets.
I rub at my elbow, attempting to massage the phantom ants that are now running up and down my arm from having hit my funny bone when I fell. I sit up and find that one of the two blankets I went to sleep with covering me is now on the floor under me. It seems whatever dream I was having wasn't a pleasant one.
That's when I notice how uncomfortably hot I am.
My untied tunic sticks to my chest like a second skin thanks to the sweat coating me, and my hair is lathered in it. It's as if I took a bath with my clothes on, and that's not the weirdest part. My skin feels like it's on fire, which is odd considering that I literally control the element and the heat of it has never burned me before.
I stand up, swaying and catching myself on the bedpost when my vision blacks out, and my head spins too fast for me to have seen coming. It takes a moment and a few shakes of my head, but then the world comes back into focus and I right myself. I walk to the window and rest my forehead against it, seeking the cold on the other side. My relief lasts about two seconds before the comforting cold turns to more heat. I shift, resting my forehead on another section of the window. Two seconds later I move again, and again, and again, each time the cooling lasting not nearly as long as the previous.
What in ten hells is wrong with me? I would remember a nightmare, definitely recall a night terror, so if it isn't one of the two and it wasn't the Demoni, then what was it? I've always been a rather warm sleeper, but this...this is different - I can feel it starting in my chest like a match. It's like my insides are boiling, slowly melting me from the inside out. I've kept myself warm against the chill of winter, but never has it felt this - this - strong. Maintaining my body temperature has become second nature, pulling heat in, and sending it away before I use it to do something reckless. Something's wrong, I can feel it, I just don't know what the Gods and their Saints are trying to tell me.
Angered, I undo the latch and throw open the window, already pulling the night breeze towards me.
The Gods and their Saints. I despise them. They know all, see all, plan our lives, and watch as everything they've created plays out. We worship them as if they've done us some kind of great deed in creating us, yet if they truly cherished us, if they cared for us even the slightest, they'd leave our lives trouble-free. Peace would be a thing one saw, not something we'd only dream of having.
Maybe it's us, maybe these powers and hierarchies made of our own doing are the issues. So long as we rule by a crown or a singular title, there will always be plans for a coup, always be war and battles to be fought, and from that, lives to be lost.
Damn this war to come. Damn greed. Damn power and jealousy and darkness and - and - and - Gods be damned why is the wind so fucking warm -
Where's the snow? Hours ago I went to sleep, and the land was painted in white, now...it's gone. The snow has melted and the grass that was beneath it now shows but is entirely dead. There's no commotion on the walls, the patrols are still walking their lines, and the wolves are still nowhere to be seen, I-
The wolves, the snow, the dead grass, my body's heat...Something's wrong, the wind warns.
Something's wrong.
My stomach drops and the next second I'm throwing open my bedroom doors and running for the foyer. I hear Alister and Winston yelling after me, but I ignore them and the rest of my guard as I burst through my chamber doors and sprint through the halls and down the stairs.
As I run the wind keeps howling, different voices battling with my own thoughts as if they were its own. You should go to her and never leave her side.
I shouldn't have left in the first place.
You used to like her darkness
Not this darkness, not this which has me running as if the next few seconds could be the last.
Don't do it. Don't break it. Don't do it.
Gods Clare, what did you do? What did you break? Will I ever know?
I jump up the last three steps to the third floor of the Healer's Tower. Kathika and Vanya stand in front of the door, each with furrowed brows and questions leaving their lips that I don't have time to answer. My foot slips as I try to halt my running and I start to fall, but a hand takes hold of my arm and I'm caught before I can fall.
"What in ten hells is going on?" I pull out of Nilsa's grip before anyone can answer and shove through the door.
I only take a second to look at Branka sitting in a chair. Her face is blank, her body entirely still, and her eyes entirely white as if she's possessed by something. More footsteps following me inside snap my attention away from her, and I look to Clarice who's still asleep in her bed. She should be awake. I slammed through that door; the commotion should've had her awake and wide-eyed. Instead, she lays on her side motionless.
Two steps and I'm at the side of her bed shaking her gently. "Clarice? Clarice, wake up. Wake up, Clarice!"
Tanith is already on the other side of the bed, her hands cradling Clarice's head before I can yell for one of them to tell me what the hell is wrong and how to fix it. Behind Tanith, Rohana and Nilsa are trying to get Branka out of whatever trance she's in.
"Dammit, Branka, now is not the time to be looking through your mother's eyes," the former shrieks, looking prone to slapping the woman.
Tanith's face contorts and I can feel it as she pushes her power further toward Clarice. "I can't get in."
"Why the hell not?"
"Her brain's overridden."
"What the hell does that mean?" Lance asks over my shoulder. His hair is standing every which way, his shirt is wrinkled and his pants are clearly rushed to be put on. Katarina looks just as disturbed beside him.
"She's burning up," Tanith answers, suddenly out of breath. "Her mind is so focused on her body that the rest of her thoughts are nothing more than soundless prayers."
Burning up. I look down at her, finally noticing the sweat covering her brow and staining her shirt, and she's still under her blankets. I touch her cheek, finding it nothing more than warm. Then again, my own body temperature is shaky.
"You can literally get into anyone's head," Kat argues. "How hard is it to hear whispers?"
"I can't hear her thoughts if she burns my skin every time I touch her." My head snaps up, instantly finding her hands held out palms up for all of us to see her now blistered, bleeding, red, and shaking hands. Her entire palm and fingertips are charred. I look back down at the hand I touched Clare's cheek with and find it still intact.
"You have to hold her." We all turn to Branka, now normal-eyed but clearly not okay. Her breathing's shallow, her cheeks pink as if she's just gone for a long run.
"What? Branka what the hell is happening? Where's your mother?" Rohana demands.
Branka ignores her and tries to stand, only for her legs to give out. Rohana catches her easily, but still, Branka only focused on me. "Trust me. You need to hold her, otherwise, she's as good as ash." She chokes on the last word and starts coughing dryly. Rohana returns her back to her chair, but I'm already turning away and throwing aside Clarice's blankets. Lance moves to help, but the second he touches her skin he winces and pulls away.
"You have to-to pull the heat within her in-into your-yourself," Branka explains in between her coughs.
I slip one hand beneath Clare's shoulder gently, shoving away the thoughts that sprouted to life at the feel of how close her bones are to her skin. I lift her up enough for me to sit on the bed and then hold her upper body to my chest. Still, she doesn't wake, still, she doesn't so much as twitch or react to the movements.
The heaviness of her body - the dead weight - it scares the living shit out of me. I can't feel her heartbeat. Gods and their Saints, please -
"Pull the heat into you," Branka repeats, more forcefully this time.
"Darius," Lance urges.
I close my eyes and clear my mind of everything but the thought of the warmth of her body moving from her to me. Pain strikes me in the chest but I ignore it and focus on the voice that calls to the heat of her skin. I've trained with the elements long enough to know that this kind of pain means the elements are in my hands and resisting my orders. It soon disperses when it realizes what I'm doing - who I'm trying to save, and I don't let my mind stray from the task at hand.
I can't lose her, not like this, not when there's something that I can do to prevent death from claiming another soul. My grandmother died of an illness I couldn't cure, this is something I can fix, something I can control, and she...I can't lose her. Not when she's never left my mind, not when we just got her back and I finally made some sort of progress into controlling the raw panic that would overtake me at just the sound of her name. Before I would've stayed in my room standing at the window debating whether or not to come over here. I would've assumed that the Ginerva would sense something wrong too and saved her, and I would've never come.
I came and I'm here and I'm not through with fighting, not when there's so much to fight for. Clarice never stops fighting, so why should I? "Darius?" That voice...
I open my eyes but keep my body as taut as a bowstring. Everyone else in the room goes just as quiet and still, all heads turned to the body in my arms. I should move. I should say something or do something or...dammit, I don't know what I should do.
Clare's hand moves slightly, and I watch as her fingers bend and straighten as if testing how much movement she has. The sight sparks something in me, and I shift her weight slightly so that her head rests against my shoulder. All the air leaves my lungs when I find her eyes open and staring back at me.
"Darius?"
I didn't tell her my name, did I? Maybe she heard it from one of the Ginerva, or maybe Siscilla or Roseia or someone else mentioned it? Maybe...
I keep trying to find reasons as to how she would know my name, keep trying to convince myself that it's just a coincidence that she knows my name, or remembers it. Can she remember? I don't want to hope, not when I know how easily such a thing as hope can tear you down just as quickly as it does to lift you up. I don't want to believe it, but how am I supposed to think otherwise when she looks at me now almost exactly the way she used to? With recognition.
I open my mouth to say - I don't know what, but before I can she inhales sharply and starts gasping for breath. "What's happening?"
"Keep pulling, Darius," Branka answers, and I immediately pull on my power. Another sting to the chest, another voice calling, and a few seconds later she's breathing easily again. This time I keep a grip on the elements, not wanting to risk her fainting again. Her eyes start to slowly flutter open, and I take note of how cold her skin now feels. I want to warm her up, but something tells me that letting more heat fill her will only have her back into battling with whatever the hell is going on, so I instead warm my own body, letting only the places her body touches mine be warmed.
"What happened?" I look back down at her, but the recollection that was there before is now gone, and she looks at me through confused eyes and jumbled thoughts.
"I believe that is a question we're all waiting to hear the answer to," Rohana says, looking down at Branka who looks to be back to normal sitting in her chair. She makes no move to answer, but a moment later and I have an idea of why.
Willa appears beside the bed, her body already in the motion of falling so that she can only get her fingertips to the edge of the metal cart before she falls. The tray on the cart topples over, sending vials and a now empty plate plummeting to the ground with her. Lance and Kat help her up, and she waves them off once she's back on her own two feet.
"I'm fine."
"You don't look fine," Serephina protests loudly. Indeed, her hair is barely keeping in its braided formation, her cloak is singed and bears holes every few inches, she's got blood on her, black liquid everywhere else, her entire body is covered in dirt and soot, and the room suddenly fills with the strong scent of smoke.
I knew sending her on the ship to Thralia would end badly, I just didn't think she'd walk out of it looking like she's been lost in a hellish wilderness for months.
"Will someone please explain to us what in heathens is going on?" Garrison demands. He and the others still have their blades in hand, their grip whitening their knuckles and making the veins in their arms pop out. I'd tell them to ease up, but based on the way Branka and Willa each have sorrowful looks on their faces, I'm not so sure what to do.
"Willa," Rohana forces, taking a step towards the eldest woman.
Her eyes meet Rohana's. Her voice is nothing more than a barely audible whisper as she says, It's gone."
"What's gone?" Mak asks, though her expression tells me she already knows the answer.
"Thralia. It's gone."
All ten of the Ginerva visibly shudder, and Lance ignores it. "What do you mean gone?"
"Xaxias he...he burned the entire island. There's nothing left."
"What of your people?" I ask Willa, noticing that Clarice's hands haven't stopped shaking. I increased my heat slightly, but that doesn't seem to be helping. We've all been silent in the small room for long minutes, each picturing our versions of the horrors Xaxias has rung.
He didn't just burn the entire island, he's been herding all the Thralians to the capital for the past cycle. He's been killing off those who fell behind or ran too slowly and terrorizing towns and villages, letting his hounds and monsters feast on anyone they caught. He threw the island into darkness, and then just as everyone who was left fled behind the castle walls, he set the island on fire.
Willa held him and his monsters and fire back with both magic and her sword, keeping the path from the front gates to the rivers that would lead to the ocean clear for her people to flee. Four miles of river and city she kept from being touched by Xaxias for hours - hundreds of lives left she gave hope to. Hundreds of lives she couldn't save. I can see it in her eyes, the way they stare at the ground yet see right through it and down to the darkest parts of the world. She's lost, and I know what lost feels like.
I wanted to save everyone on that island. Heathens, I still do. I'm still wondering what the results would've been if I had just sent her sooner, or if I had sent her the moment Xaxias left here, knowing that his first target would be Thralia.
Or what if I had sent the Ginerva with her? What if I sent them and more ships? How many would've lived then? How many more people could we have saved rather than given false hope and left to die because I didn't send a stronger defense? What if? How many? Questions I'll never know the answer to because I didn't act quickly enough.
Clarice's hand grabbing my own brings me out of my thoughts. She still lays against my chest, though her head is now bowed likely to hide the tears she doesn't want me or anyone else to notice falling. Her hand is cool against mine, but it's not freezing cold so I warm it further and let the power that's close to its filling point simmer down. I feel another tear fall from her cheek and reach towards the metal cart and grab the cloth that's there to offer it to her. She takes it but only holds it in her hand.
More what-if questions say their askance, and I let them, but I push them to a whisper as Willa goes to break the silence.
"We got the ships loaded, but..." She takes a deep breath, gathering herself before continuing on. "But there were still people on its shores by the time we brought in the last of the dinghies. I couldn't hold him off, not if I wanted to get those three ships and whatever other small boats that managed to sail far enough out of there. I couldn't save them, I-"
"You did your best," Branka insists, still not looking at her mother. They've avoided each other's gaze and presence after their initial understanding looks.
"You could've summoned us," Nilsa argues, ignoring Branka's glare. "If you had time and energy to spare to pull your daughter into your mind, then you had time and energy to spare to call us. It would've taken all of one word and we could've misted those people in the river out."
"Your strength was too important to risk depleting it in one day-"
"That decision is ours to make," Rohana declares. "It is our strength, it is our power, and no one and nothing but our own minds gets to decide what we use it on-"
"I was there! I saw the odds, I knew what it would cost, and I made the decision-"
"A stupid decision-"
"A mature decision," Willa defends, glaring at Tsillah. "Based on eight-hundred years of living, yours are those of a child's mind."
"Had you called us - had you used the knowledge you gained over those eight-hundred years, you might've just saved a few dozen or more lives," Mak claims.
"What's done is done," Rohana says, crossing her arms. "You made your decision to leave our people - your people - to burn in hellfire, now you must live with it."
"Enough," I say after Clarice flinches against me at the mention of people burning in hellfire. "Where are Svenja and the ships now?"
Willa takes a moment to gather herself once more, swallowing deeply as she drags her eyes away from all the stone-faced Thralians. "They're uh...I misted them to the shores on the border of Vandaria and Adaeric. It's the furthest I could get without using up everything. They're disembarking the survivors now."
I nod and look to the Ginerva, ignoring whatever moods they're in. "Wake up Siscilla and the castle healers. Tell them to gather everything they can to heal burns and any injuries on-site, and then mist them to the coastline. Anyone in fatal condition gets treated first, those with minor injuries can tend to the children until we arrive."
"We?" Garrison questions.
I ignore his concern, and instead, give him and the Bhaltayr another task. "Have the Court brought into my chambers, say nothing else but those words, and wake the rest of the staff. Have them put together whatever rations we can spare, we'll mist them over when we leave in an hour - and yes, Garrison, we. Willa will go with the Ginerva now-"
"She's nearly depleted, she should stay," Nilsa says, clearly having another reason for not wanting Willa to go with them.
"More than a hundred and fifty people just saw everything they've ever known literally be burned to ashes, and only held off by one person alone so they could survive. As much as I'm sure they'd be relieved to see you, none of were there minutes ago when they needed you most - nonetheless," I exclaim when both Nilsa and Mak open their mouths to spit at Willa again. "You will atone for your absence by aiding and protecting them now. Willa will go because she will be the one person that everyone will be looking for in their moment of vulnerability.
"After I deal with the Court and find someone to keep their sticky fingers off of my throne, then I'll summon you to have Lance, the Bhaltayr, and I misted to the shoreline. As King of Vandaria, I open our land to them and offer any and all hospitality I can provide, as well as our protection. A declaration will be enough for the kingdom, but the Thralians, I'll want to meet with them personally. Don't worry Kat, I'll have you misted out with the healers." Her cheeks turn pink at my notice of her eagerness to join. Like I'd ever say no to her wanting to help. "Any objections?"
The Ginerva clearly have one, but they're smart enough to keep it to themselves. Lance shakes his head, looking more proud than anything. The Bhaltayr are all smiling, and I look away before Gabe or Ethan make a comment I'd rather not hear.
"I want to go. Please." I'm not surprised by Clarice's statement, I just...don't know how to respond. I look to Willa, hoping she still has some power to see if Clare's alright.
She straightens up from where she had taken up leaning against a wall, catching her breath and likely attempting to do the same with her mind. "As Mater Natura, she's soulfully bound to Thralia's land. If it burns then she can feel it, and she'll burn with it. As Pater Princeps, you're soulfully bound to any flame that burns on Thralia's land, it's why you yourself are heating up easily and are gaining power. The fire Xaxias set is fueling you, making you stronger, but it's hurting her. She'll need to stay by your side until the fire is put out, otherwise, she'll...end up as you found her tonight, only worse."
"So as long as he goes, she can go," Lance concludes.
"Yes."
I nod then, the decision clearly made, despite my reservations. "Leave now, Clarice and I will be there in an hour."
*****
The Court was easier to deal with than I initially thought. Lord Roland offered to house any of the refugees in Lander, and even went so far as to write a letter telling his estate staff to have preparations made and any and all available living quarters ready for those who seek to stay in it. Lady Evangeline took similar action, offering up her services to anyone who would journey to Pright.
The Court wasn't mad about my decision to allow them into our land, though they were rather annoyed that I hadn't shared my plans of sending Willa or a small faction of pirates to the island. Don't even get me started on their reactions to when I had to briefly explain that we have the Devil's Pride Fleet as our allies. Then came the question as to how we made such alliances, and I had to shuffle on my feet before explaining that their Captain owes Clare a life debt. It was more unsettling since Clare was standing beside me as we spoke, as she doesn't remember any of it.
I promised the Court that Lord Roland would explain everything in my temporary absence, and then I told them that if they revealed any information that he shared to anyone, whether through spoken word, written word, coded word, sung word, or word of any kind, that I wouldn't hesitate to send The Ginerva - who I briefly described by name and power - after them and anyone who could've potentially learned the information. I left them with the reminder that Tanith is a mind reader, and all secrets they thought they had are no longer secrets. They don't know that the threat was a bluff, but they don't need to.
I left them to continue their business elsewhere, sending Blaise and Reynald to shadow them and listen to their whispers until they all left back to their own quarters. After that, I had Lance take his sister into the other room to find something warm to wear while I spoke to Aillard. The Thralian Lord denied my offer to have him brought with us to his people, saying that I needed someone to watch over the castle while I was away, and so long as I cared for his people, he'd care for mine. I didn't need to feel his truth to know it as such and left him to go ensure that the kitchen staff was packing up rations.
Thomas also refused my offer, though his reason was to assemble a few fellow staff members to prepare the Highland Tower, Eagle Wing, and my old tower for the guests that would arrive. We'll move Marrieta, Helena, and Lord Drimylus into the Canary Wing, right in between the healers and mystic wolves and close to the Jade Assassins. By the start of the next cycle, we should have a full house.
Gods and their Saints protect us all.
Now I'm pulling on a coat and boots, Clarice in the same fashion, the only changes to our night outfits. An entire King and Queen regalia are rather inordinate for the occasion, and I'm getting anxious the longer we wait to mist.
Lance ditched his Sinister Fox suit for a more casual look too, but he's still armed beneath his tunic, pants, boots, coat, and balaclava. The Bhaltayr are going full-on armor and weapons, more so for protection than show. They're only twelve men, but I'd think they'd do more damage than Xaxias would estimate.
"Ready?" I ask Clarice as we stare face to face. She nods, still chewing on her bottom lip just as she did an hour ago.
We're ready.
A few silent seconds tick by, and then Branka, Willa, Rohana, and Vanya are standing in front of us. I move to approach them but stop short when I notice what Branka and her mother carry in their hands.
Crowns. Two crowns, one forged and expertly cut to look like flames dancing towards the sky, the other a detailed ring of flowers and leaves with chains of tiny droplets of blue crystals hanging from the sides.
"The archivist managed to save these," Willa explains, that distant look still in her eyes. "They're the original crowns of the first elementals, preserved and worn by every following elemental for centuries. You should wear them. It'll give the people something to hold onto, and they need something to hold onto after today."
I've never been one for crowns, let alone the titles and formalities of bowing and always having the expected royal manners. But she's right, the people will need something. I can suck up my intolerance for carrying the weight of a crown on my head for a few hours. Plus, it's hard to say no when Clarice looks at her rightful crown in Branka's hands with such awe and appreciation. So I nod and try not to look too uncomfortable as Willa lifts the crown onto my head and slowly sets it down.
When I straighten back up, I'm surprised to find the crown impossibly light. It looked heavy as hell in her hands, but now that it's on my head, it's as if I'm wearing nothing more than one of my silver circlets. Not even the piece of the crown that curves down between my brows to a point over the center of my nose is bothering me.
Then the thing literally starts to move and I go still. Clarice's gasp tells me that hers is doing the same.
"Don't panic, the crowns are magicked to adjust to your head so they fit you perfectly," Willa explains. "Just relax."
"Dude, that's so weird," Amel says, coming up beside me and watching closely as the crown keeps moving. A moment later and it stops, and I let the tension in my shoulders ease up.
"How do I look?" I slowly turn my head to look at Clarice, still uneasy about the thing now planted on my head. When I finally come face to face with her, all the responses to her question die on my tongue.
I don't even think there are words for how effortless she looks. Her hair falls in frizzed waves that did look untamed without the crown, but with it sitting across her forehead, a large raindrop of a blue crystal falling between her brows, swinging with every move of her head, and the smaller raindrops falling along with her hair, she looks as if she really is the mother of nature.
She looks...Gods not even words can explain it.
"You look like one badass bitch," Ethan answers, putting his arm on my shoulder and giving her a wink that has her cheeks turning rosy. I don't think I've ever seen Clarice blush so red. "This guy, on the other hand, could use two baths and a serious makeover."
I smile despite my urge to sock him, which only makes Clare smile wider, which makes me smile wider. It's been so long since I've seen that smile, and I intend on making it appear as many times as I can for however long I can.
Lance takes Rohana's hand when she offers it, I on her other, and Clarice on mine. The Bhaltayr split up between the other three, and then we're stepping through miles of my kingdom and onto a beach. Clarice stumbles in the sand, and I have to catch her around the waist before she goes plummeting to the ground.
"You'll get used to it," I tell her. She gives me another shy smile. Another thing I'm not used to receiving from her, but not an unwelcome thing either.
"Huh. Not exactly what I had in mind when Willa said she brought them to the shores."
We both turn, following Henry's gaze. No, three largely built ships beached and each sitting at slanted angles is not at all what I had in mind. You know, these things don't look so large when half of their body is beneath the water.
"Believe me, it's not what I had in mind either." I turn back around towards the sound of a very annoyed Svenja and find the lady pirate stomping her way over to us. Willa and the others mist off before she reaches us, which only makes me nervous. "How in ten hells am I supposed to get three ships back into the ocean without an on-end launch?"
"Three ships out of your few hundred? Whatever will we do?" Mal mocks.
"That ship is my prized possession and soul vessel-" she thrusts an angered finger at the center ship "-I will not captain my fleet from any other one, so if you want my navy, I'd be nice if I were you. Hi, by the way," she says to Clarice, who's standing slightly behind my shoulder and gripping my hand with both of hers. She watches Svenja with a rather frightened expression. No doubt the anger caught her off guard. "It's nice to see you back on your feet."
Clarice gives her a polite smile but doesn't say anything more. Sometimes I really do worry that this is the Clarice we'll now and forever know - not that it's a bad thing, it's just...hard. Then again, the best things in life are the hardest to keep, I suppose.
"Oh, shit, that's right," Svenja sighs, recalling the current situation. "Uh...my name's Svenja and I'm the Comandante of the Devil's Pride Fleet. Or at least I was up until the point my lead vessel was beached by a Gods be damned all-powerful, beautiful, immortal woman!"
"Could you say that a little louder? I don't think all of Ker heard you confess your horny wishes to fuck an eight-hundred-year-old woman." Svenja pulls her fist back, feigning to punch Gabe in his smug face. He flinches, but the blow never lands.
"Fucking dipstick of a scabby sea bass," she mutters, lowering her fist and stomping off towards her ship. Lance snorts at the retort, but I have no idea what it means.
"Love ya too, hussy!" Svenja shoots him a middle finger over her shoulder at him, and I roll my eyes, knowing very well that their banter will be a thing that'll never end.
"Did she just call him a...rotten old fish?" Clarice asks. I turn to look at her, then to Lance.
"To put it in nicer terms, yes," he answers simply, but I can still see the hope in his eyes. If she understands the pirate's insult, maybe there are other things she remembers but doesn't yet realize.
"Come on," I say, glancing at the filled beach full of children that outnumber the adults. A memory of Clare and I playing with children on the first day of the Elysian Festival pops up in my head, and rather than push it away, I let it fill me and remind me what I'm fighting for. "It's time we take our first step towards peace."
We meet dozens of Thralians, young and old, for the next hour or so. Some of them break down when they see us, gripping our hands with their shaking ones, tears running down their cheeks. Some don't say much. We met a man who wouldn't do more than nod when we asked if he was alright, he just stared at the ground and stood too still to be anything but broken. I didn't have much more than the warmth of the fire element to give him, but Clarice just threw her arms around him and didn't let go. He didn't react at first, but slowly hugged her back and let his tears fall.
I left her to comfort the man and any like him, though I make sure to stay close enough to drain her should she grow too hot. It's happened a few times now, more recently than before.
The kids have drifted toward me, some wanting to touch the crown or pelt me with questions I try my best to answer. One has been quite attached to my side, and I've kept her situated on my hip, her arms wrapped around my neck while I walk around and talk to more people, comforting them, telling them that they're okay, they're safe. It always feels like a lie.
An elder woman sits on a rock nearby, watching over the kids running around in the cold night breeze, building sandcastles in the moonlight and firelight from the few fires I lit for people to sit near. She doesn't look troubled or worried or even melancholy, she just looks at peace, as if everything truly will be okay. I walk over to her now, still holding the child whose name I can't seem to pry from her. The woman notices my approach, likely from the clanking of Garrison and Vlad's armor as they trail after me. The others are off helping the last of the Thralians off the ship, the Ginerva helping to heal the wounded and pass out food and water.
"Meus Rex," the woman says, putting her right pointer and middle finger to her brow, and then over her sternum. The gesture confused me when a man earlier repeated the motion, but I've come to recognize it as a salute of a sort. Everyone does it when greeting or saying goodbye to me or Clare or the Ginevra and Willa. "Forgive me if I do not stand, these bones aren't what they used to be."
"No apologies needed."
Her eyes shift to the girl in my arms. "I see you've found Laya. She's a rather rare golden one, always too kind to live in a world such as this one."
I nod, glad to have found the girl's name. "You wouldn't happen to know if her family is around, would you?"
"I saw her mother on the ship, she should be around here somewhere." Oh, thank the Gods and their Saints. I don't know what I'd do if I found myself attached to another orphan. There's clearly plenty already cluelessly playing about the beach while others sit in traumatized silence, and I plan to find perfect homes for each of them, but it feels nice to know that there'll be one less gentle heart to worry about. They play thanks to Tanith who took mercy on the younger ones and wiped their memories of the horror. I don't know where they believe themself to be, but if it keeps them happy, then I'll allow it.
I glance at the crowd, trying to find someone who holds some kind of resemblance to Laya. I don't get much luck, but I do find Clarice kneeling in front of a woman, saying something I can't hear that makes the woman laugh through her sniffles. Some things you just can't change about someone, no matter how hard you try there'll always be some kind of shadow of their previous self to come into the light.
"You know," the woman muses, pulling my eyes and thoughts from Clare. "Some people here say that the two of you are imposters, two people that the Ginerva found and put the crowns on your head to give us false hope. Considering that there are fires burning without wood, a breeze that keeps the scent of fear away, and the fact that she has fallen ill several times since your arrival, I'd say that Ginerva have put the crowns on their rightful bearers. She feels it, doesn't she? She feels our land dying."
"She does," I answer, not knowing what more to say.
"And the two of you, are you...together?"
"It's...complicated."
"Ah, well, in that case, I'll offer a bit of elder wisdom. The things that are complicated are the most worth it, in the end, believe me. It took me and my husband ten years to finally get the chance to marry, all because it was complicated, but I'll tell you this, I'd do it all over again if it meant that I got to be here, now, with his crooked grin plastered on his face as he walks over here like a drunk bastard."
I turn to where her eyes drift to and sure enough find a man with a grey beard and matching short cut hair, stoic built, and that crooked grin trudging through the sand. His laugh is low and deep as he salutes the same gesture as his wife and then sits next to her. "I'm glad to hear you still don't regret saying yes."
"I may regret it yet if you keep smiling like that."
"You love my smile." She doesn't answer, just snatches the piece of bread from his hands and takes a big bite out of it. "Meet my wife, Meus Rex, the pig of Thralia." He earns a swift slap to his arm, and I press my lips together to keep from laughing and earning a scolding in return.
I watch as they fight over the piece of bread, her putting her body between it and her husband, him poking her in the sides to try and get around her. Laya smiles at the small wrestling match too, and I suddenly have a flash of a vision.
Clarice and I on the beach, a blanket beneath us, food spread about it, all of our friends being the idiots they are all around us, and two kids, one a dark-haired girl with green eyes and her mother's mischievous smile, the other a boy, younger than the girl with his lighter hair and brown eyes, running through the water laughing.
Another young child joins them, a girl with a plate of bright red hair and stunning grey eyes. There are two teenage twins arguing with Ethan and Gabe about what the sand kingdom they've been making ever since we got there should be named. Either way, the name will be something vulgar and their castle walls destroyed by the three kids who live to cause chaos.
I've thought about my future before - our future - but never has it seemed so real. Never has it been pictured in my head so clearly; the smell of the wind, the taste of the salt on your lips, and the sound of playful bickering and laughter. Clare and I would argue too, as usual, and then we'd fight over the last pastry just as the woman and man do before me now. It seems so real, and yet too good to be true. Everyone wants a happy ending, but that doesn't mean you're bound to get it.
"Laya?" We all turn towards the voice, and I find a woman who is clearly Laya's mother hastily walking towards us, Clarice following after her. Of course, Clare found Laya's mother. "Laya!"
"Mina!" Laya yells back, already squirming in my arms to be put down. I quickly do so, and then watch as mother and daughter reunite in a bundle of tears and re-lived laughs. They hug and then pull apart, and then hug and pull apart again.
My eyes snap to Clarice when she reaches my side. There's sweat beading on her brow, and I can feel it as she fights to keep breathing evenly. I take her hand and pull what I can from her, making her sigh in relief.
"Thank you. I'm sorry to interrupt," she apologizes to the couple.
"Oh, you're not interrupting much," the wife says with a wave of her hand. Her husband takes her temporary distraction and grabs the bread out of her hand, which sends them back into their playful argument. More visions flash in my mind, all full of happiness and no sign of dark days ahead.
"Can you help me with something?" Clare whispers. I nod, and then with one last glance at the happy couple and mother and daughter, I let her pull me away.
I wave off Garrison and Vlad after a few steps and make sure that they actually listen so I don't have to turn around and give them the look. People salute as we walk, the kids waving and yelling hellos without stopping their strides. These people just went through hell, literally, and yet they still find a way to smile and keep moving forward. I think I need them just as much as they need us.
Clare stops, and I glance around, trying to figure out what is it she needs my help with. We're at the shoreline, away from people and between two of Svenja's beached ships. I think I can still hear her cursing at the Gods, or at least cursing at anyone close enough for her to curse at.
"What is it you needed my help with?"
"That," she answers and points to the ship on my right.
"The ship?"
"Branka never said anything, but I was talking to this woman earlier and she started talking about how I'm able to control the water, and that I should be able to put the ships back in the sea. I honestly thought she was crazy, but then she kept talking about it and telling me how you're the one who is controlling the fires and the wind, and then I started thinking about it and realized that things have been happening in the past cycle that I can't explain. Like the other day while Branka left to go find more medicine and the others were out of the room, I accidentally knocked over a glass of water, and when I went to go catch it, the whole glass and water just...stopped falling.
"Then I felt pain in my hand and the glass fell to the ground. And whenever I take a bath it feels like I was meant to be surrounded by water - even now I feel like I should be standing in the ocean. And there are the water wolves that only do what I say, and the fact that I watched a dead flower suddenly bloom back to life after I imagined it doing exactly that. I just...I don't know. I want to help. I want to do more than tell everyone that we're all going to be fine when I, myself, can barely stand for five minutes before I feel dizzy. And Svenja's yelling is really upsetting everyone, and it's honestly starting to annoy me to the point that I've imagined tossing her into the waves to cool her the fuck down several times."
She sighs heavily to catch her breath from her rant, then meets my eyes and furrows her brow when she notices my smile. I can't help it, she sounds more like her usual self - especially with the whole throwing Svenja into the ocean part. The only difference is that the old her would've already done it, whereas the new her just considers it.
"It's crazy, isn't it?"
"No," I say too quickly. "It's not crazy. Actually, it's the least crazy thing I've heard in a while."
"So...can you...uh..." She glances at the ship again, and I suddenly understand. She wants me to teach her how to put the ship back in the water.
"Oh, uh...well, I taught you once, I don't see why I can't try again."
Her rising excitement pauses for confusion again. "You've taught me to use my power before?"
"Sort of. We were learning together and you were struggling to do one of the tasks, so I helped you understand it more, and you got the hang of it."
She squints at me, and I can't read her expression more than that. "So. How do I move a ship from the beach, back into the water?"
"Well, first thing's first. Clear your mind."
"That shouldn't be too hard."
I ignore her comment and my hesitation at the implication. I turn her around so that she's facing the ocean, and then try to remember our lessons with Sibella, then feel my own power swell and direct me through it itself.
"Watch the ocean. See how it flows and bends, how it pulls back before it surges forward again." Her head dips, signaling a nod. "See how the moonlight reflects off of its edges, and then focus on a single wave. Watch it build up, and then curl and crash, and then stretch as far as it can before the wave behind it pulls it back in."
I pause a moment, letting a few minutes pass for her to watch wave after wave, to see the patterns and memorize them. "Now focus deeper on it. Feel the ocean pull you back in, feel it beckon you towards it, and don't fight it. Hear what it has to say, learn its song and its dance, and then get lost in it."
Her eyes drift closed, and I watch as she breathes the wind in deeply, relaxing with each exhale. She had that same blissful look on her face that night my mom brought out the guitar for me to play. I hadn't noticed her enjoying the vibrations of the strings until I looked up and found her with her head against the backrest, eyes closed, cheeks lifted in a content and peaceful smile. The firelight caught her face so perfectly that it made her glow, and I nearly fumbled the notes admiring her.
The moonlight paints her in shades of greens and blues now rather than the warmth of the fire, but she still looks...beautiful. The voices of wind and fire fill my ears louder, singing joyfully as her own power wakes, and their voices join the song.
"Do you hear it? Can you feel it move without seeing it?" She gives two slow nods, and I watch the waves and find them moving in slightly different patterns already. "What does it sound like?"
"It sounds...mournful. I only hear one voice. A woman's. She sings alone, with no other sound but those of the crashing waves. It's staggered, her voice moves up and down as if she's trying to call out to someone. It's...it's like a siren's song, only it doesn't sound threatening, it sounds...lonely."
The waves surge at Clare's voice, now crashing so close that our ankles are buried beneath a small layer of water. I look back up at her, but she doesn't seem to notice the water already altering to her will.
"Don't change the song, Clare, just slow it down," I tell her. "Listen closer as you do, and when you can hear her more clearly, add your own voice on top of it. Wind your own song within its notes, and feel the waves on your fingertips as you push them to where you want them to go."
I pull back into silence, letting her find her own way from here. She speaks in song, which means her elements do too.
With fire, I thought I'd only hear screams when I'd try to use it. Instead, I found a low voice, humming a hearty tune that could've likely been an inappropriate tavern song. I bounced my leg to its beat and then started coming up with lyrics to fit the flame's hum, and soon enough I was able to dim and flare any lantern or candle flames that were nearby with ease. The wind has an odd sound, something that I found hard to try and interpret, but it eventually came, and I found myself able to feel people breathing and the vibrations of their voices as they spoke.
Sibella was wrong about the pain, I realize. It doesn't show up every time we go to use the power. It isn't a consequence of Dawn and Kerrigan going against tradition, but rather the Spirits of the Living themselves telling us that using our power in that way won't get us far. I didn't realize until now that I could use my power without the initial pain, and I suppose I justified the lack of it by saying I'd become used to it. That it was normal and right that I felt pain for having such power. That I had to pay for being able to use it. But I don't.
Having to speak the process out loud to help Clarice made me realize it more, and just like everything else in my life since she's entered it, it's all for the better.
Clare's wrist starts to slowly twist, her fingers bending with the movement, and then the waves shift. First, they grow bigger, then they shrink until they're nothing but stillwater. Everyone behind us now whispers in hushed tones, some marveling at the display, others shifting on their feet as if waiting for the water to lash out and drown them. The latter doesn't happen. Instead, it moves forward in slow, fluid motions toward the ship. I step closer to her, one eye on her to make sure she doesn't pass out and the other on the ship that now moans as the water sinks beneath and around it.
The crew members still on the ship start calling out, and Svenja being Svenja, starts yelling back, telling them to lower the sails and do their jobs, and stop acting like children. They move after that, and I can feel as they all stumble and try not to trip over their own two feet as the ship tilts on its side the further the water gets under it. People rush to move out of its shadow, scared that the thing will tilt over and crush them.
"Deep breathes, Clare, you're almost there," I encourage.
The waves finally dig deep enough into the sand and the ship creaks loudly as it rights itself once more. I glance at Clarice, finding her brow wrinkled and her biting her bottom lip in concentration. She won't be able to hold it much longer, and the crew hasn't lowered the sails yet.
Silently cursing, I silence the song of the fire element causing the fires on the beach to go out, and then focus on the song of the wind. It's not just one voice but many, all singing at their own pace to their own beats. I choose the softest one and mend my own within it before aiming it towards the ropes tieing the sails. With the swipe of my hand, the ropes untie and the sails break free. Still using the same song, I tie the sails off and then let the voice go. In the next second, I have hold of the loudest and strongest voice and push it into the sails.
I hear the large sheets snap taut and open my eyes to find the bow of the ship pointed out towards the wide-open sea. Beneath it, large and powerful waves slam against the hull, and above it, the wind howls and fills the sails. A sharp gasp escapes Clarice, and I find her smiling the biggest smile, the waves now back to their normal pattern. I keep the sails full until it's far enough to drop anchor.
Everyone starts to cheer, the kids screaming at pitches too high to be pleasant, and Svenja...I don't know what she's screaming, but she sure is happy about her ship being back in the water.
"I did it!" Clare cheers, her fists in the air. She turns and looks at me, and I can do nothing but smile and stare at her, at the girl who has put me through more shit and bliss in the past couple of months than anyone else has in my eighteen years of living.
"Come one," she says, grabbing my hand and tugging me towards the other ship.
"Where are we going?"
"There are still two ships on the beach. We have to get them back into the water."
"Wait, what?" She ignores me and releases my hand to close her eyes and refocus on the sea.
Well, I suppose a little more practice won't hurt, and neither would seeing her smile again. So I find that soft voice in the wind for a second time to untie the sails, and I let myself not only fill the sails while her waves right the boat but also move to touch every person on the beach. To spin through their hair, to run along their skin as they open their arms to my power, and to dry their tears, because though tonight was a horror, we're here, we're alive, and we could never be wiped out so easily.