Born for Silk (The Cradled Common)

Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

Aster

My hands shake violently as I lower them from the scope.

Blink.

I know what I just witnessed. My eyes took in the dense, shadowy scene. The fire and wind combined created waves of flickering lights that helped me see, however, intermittently.

I saw. Odio dropped to a heap, and Rome took bullets, so many bullets, trying to get to him right before the Trade arrived with reinforcements and blocked my view with a giant tyre track.

I saw it… But while I saw it, my heart and soul are not tearing, not shredding, my subconscious denies my eyes. He isn’t dead. I would know.

“Aster? What did you see?” I hear Han, but his voice is far away, or maybe I am drifting.

I answer his true question—he is not asking about Odio or Rome. He asks whether it is safe.

“It’s safe,” I mutter before spinning, singularly focused, to find the other person who shares my concerns.

Tuscany is walking toward me, the ghost of worry in her amber gaze. I see my emotions reflected in her glassy pools of love and fear.

Hollow, I mutter, “He was shot.”

She covers her gasp. “Where?”

My head shakes over and over, remembering all the bullets. So many. In his back. Side. Leg.

“Everywhere,” I say, my throat tightening. No. No. Not now. Do not break in half now.

I refuse to believe it.

I am breathing, and so he must be, too. He must be breathing, existing. I cannot have a mind, a consciousness if he does not.

I swallow over the ball of hot, angry tears. Absently, I lift my gaze to the hatch as it opens. To release us. Free us.

Detached.

The girls climb out.

Detached.

The room empties.

Detached.

I am suddenly on the surface.

Detached.

I am walking outside through the grave of the storm, the wind quieter, surrounded by activity, lights from vehicles, Trade personnel, Endigo’s being arrested, doctors tending to wounds, and?—

Beyond a gathering of people, within a protective circle, I see his boots on the ground.

I lurch toward him.

“Odio.” I hear his guttural word, twisted with longing and grief, the sound wrapping around my throat, choking the tears from me.

They rush down my cheeks.

Distraught, I watch as Kong carries the great deity toward Rome, setting the lifeless bouquet of silvery feathers beside him on the red dirt.

They lay side by side.

The king and his eagle.

On his back, while a doctor removes his bloodied leather armour, Rome reaches out his hand, but it looks hard, as though his bones strain under the weight of his muscles.

A rough sigh leaves his mouth as he touches Odio’s crest and begins to stroke the feathers, soothe his friend and shadow who isn’t moving at all.

“Good boy. I never thanked you.”

As I slowly approach him, tears stream down my cheeks, twin tracks that drip over my trembling upper lip.

“Aster.”

“I’m so sorry.” I begin, the words crumbling through my lips. “It was my idea to visit the windmills. If I had?—”

“ Shh .”

While the Trade doctor works on Rome’s bullet wounds, digging in, removing, stitching, and sealing, I drop to my knees at his other side. My mauve dress fans out across the red sand.

Beside Odio.

Odio, who is upside-down.

Talons curled in tight, frozen.

His usually piercing eyes are lost in the presence of death, a depthless nothing that I wish to never see again. Tears blur the world. “He is upside-down, Rome.” I bawl. Upside down.

“Come closer,” he orders, “touch me.”

Stay strong.

With a trembling hand, I reach out and touch Rome’s face. His cheek is cold, so I press my palm to warm the cool surface.

“I never stroked him,” he says to me. “But you did. You make everything, everyone, happier.”

Pain fills my throat. “H-he lov-loved you, Rome,” I squeak. “He was such a loyal boy.”

Rome lifts his hand to cup my cheek, his thumb tracing my wet lips, and I lean into his clammy touch. “Don’t cry, sweet Aster.”

“Rome.”

“ Aster .” He almost smiles, but it is too peaceful, too lethargic. I hate it. “Aster. My Aster. Fuck me , you’re pretty.”

“Stop. You’re going to be fine. A few bullets cannot kill Rome of The Strait.”

He inhales hard.

My wide eyes slide over him, to the blood on his throat and splashed across his chest, to the dark pool creeping out from under him, conquering the red dirt?—

Shaking my head, my eyes refuse to accept the vision. My giant king. My beast. My Rome.

“Did I make amends?” Blue eyes stare through me. “Do you forgive me, little creature?”

Yes. I nod over and over and over. “Yes. Yes. Yes, but only if you get up now. You have to get up. I need my king.”

His gaze rolls to my swollen belly, his hand slips from my cheek to the mound, and he presses his palm to it, cradling his unborn child. “He is going to do great things.”

“And you’re going to watch him do them.”

“ Rome...” Tuscany’s voice spills from behind me moments before she kneels on the old abbey grounds, her shoulder touching mine.

His glassy, fractured blue eyes pan to her. “My sweet sister.” He rasps as the doctor stabs a tube into his upper ribcage. A hiss escapes the puncture hole. “Do you forgive me?”

“Please, please.” I sob, choking on my tears. “Stop talking like this.”

“I never blamed you, Rome.” Her voice cracks down the centre. I look at her as sorrowful streams course down her smooth, tanned cheeks. “Not for a second. Please just keep breathing. You were made for this world, remember? Indestructible.”

My eyes sting, pools clouding my vision of him as he reaches for my face again. I help him, holding his big, cool palm to my wet cheek.

He isn’t warm.

But he is always warm…

“I got to love you and be loved by you.” His eyes are glossy and dazed as if he is staring into a brilliant fire when he is merely staring at me. “If The Crust is a place, little creature. It is where I spend my days making you smile.”

My heart breaks, and I crumble to his chest. Not just hearing his words— But feeling them.

“Ready.” The doctor’s voice is directed over my head. “We need to get him into the tank now and to the Trade-tower. No one else. Just Sire. We need all the space for medical personnel. You understand, my queen?”

No. A bit more time.

When three men slide Rome onto a stretcher, his hand slides from me, its absence mournful. I stumble to my feet to catch his expression, but his eyes… His eyes.

They are closed.

They carry him to the tank, and my entire body trembles. My eyes believe the scene now, finally caught up with my brutal reality.

And I wonder if this is some kind of message from The Cradle. For breaking my vows. For wanting more than is offered. For jealousy and trying to change the order of things. For asking questions, loving and being loved. And for envisioning first-lights with a baby in a cot beside our bed.

Is this punishment…

Then Tuscany puts her arm around me, and Ana stops on my other side. We stand as a Collective, watching the tank drive away with our king inside.