Chapter 25 #2
Once Lior said it, the exhaustion and hilarity of the whole situation boiled over, and they laughed, both of them, their voices carrying across the fields on the early autumn breeze.
Replacing the tears with laughter, the heavy grief with joy, landed with immense rightness in Oaklin’s heart.
This was what they needed, what Emiline would have wanted.
And when they looked up at Lior, they caught that caring, understanding gaze unconsciously flick down to their lips.
They gratefully accepted the unspoken invitation.
Oaklin’s and Lior’s lips met in a kiss that was so gentle, so perfect for the moment they found themselves in that it made Oaklin’s whole body feel light as a falling leaf.
It was a kiss that held space for all the things they were wrestling with, for the complicated tangle of grief, and the better days that lay ahead.
Lior’s fingers brushed over the line of Oaklin’s jaw as the kiss renewed, again, and again, a series of promises: of care and strength and belief and more beyond that could only be named with time.
When their lips finally parted, Oaklin leaned back and met Lior’s gaze with a smile. “I guess this means everything I told you isn’t a deal-breaker?”
Lior hesitated in a way that made Oaklin’s heart skip a beat with fear…until they recognized the expression on her face. Eyes suddenly averted and half-closed, as if in pain, lips pursed and downturned.
Guilt.
Lior turned to fully face Oaklin and spoke, voice barely a whisper. “At the beginning of the war I…did as I was told. I was sent into battle and ordered to hunt down cultists. And…I did. I killed. I will never stop regretting it.”
Lior’s expression twisted in pain. After a deep, shuddering breath, she continued.
“It turns out you don’t have to be mind-controlled to be forced to do terrible things you would never consent to.
The Order didn’t tell us about the mind-control spell you all were under.
And when I figured it out, when I protested after the fact…
well, you know how that’s turned out. It’s why I’ve been considering leaving the Order.
I love the Three, but I truly don’t know why I even bother carrying a sword anymore. ”
She paused for another shaky breath. “Anyway, you aren’t the only one with regrets.
And if what I’ve told you is a deal-breaker for you, then I understand.
There was nothing magically forcing me to do what I did.
But what happened to you wasn’t your fault, and neither was what happened to Emiline. I accept you.”
She visibly forced herself to meet Oaklin’s eyes, expression neutral, ready for their judgment.
Oaklin took a moment to process the words, to feel the feelings they evoked, to search their heart for any fear or anger.
They came in brief flashes, instinctual, more memories than actual feelings.
In the end, all that was left was an immense and heavy ocean of pain.
Pain for Emiline, pain for their own violation and sins…
and pain for Lior, for what must have felt like a monumental betrayal, the loss of an entire lifetime of love and service and belonging.
Pain like thick molasses, clinging to everything, weighing down…
but ultimately able to melt away. Oaklin forced a faint curl of one corner of their mouth, the best they could do against the gravity of it all.
“I accept you too. Thank you for being honest with me,” Oaklin said, thinking of their last moments with Emiline, of her freeing words of comfort. “You and I… We’ll be okay. Emiline would have wanted us to forgive ourselves and each other.”
Lior’s smile was a sad, crooked thing, but she nodded. “Thank you. We can work together on feeling like we deserve it. And they can speak for themselves, but I know you’ll be safe with Ryn and Jules too.”
“I know,” Oaklin said simply. There was no doubt in their mind.
Oaklin and Lior ate in silence for several long minutes, watching the first of the yellow leaves give up their fight with gravity and make their twirling, tumbling fall to the ground. Finally, once they’d moved on to Ryn’s sticky buns, Lior turned to Oaklin.
“Do you wanna set something up to remember Emiline?” she asked. “A shrine or a marker of some kind?”
Oaklin smiled as their chest bloomed with the rightness of it.
“That’s a beautiful idea,” they said, scanning the land around them for inspiration. “I’ll think about what feels right…but will you help me set it up before the party tomorrow?”
“Of course. I’d love to,” Lior said. “I bet Ryn and Jules would love to also.”
“You should know I invited Sister Talla. Emiline would have wanted her there,” Oaklin said, expecting a grimace from Lior. Instead, she nodded thoughtfully.
“You’re right,” she said. “I won’t cause a fuss. I will make myself scarce, though. Sorry, I’m not that good of a person.”
Oaklin laughed, then quieted as Lior took one of their glowing red hands, rubbing a thumb slowly over the back.
“Are you ready for me to remove this glow yet?” Lior asked. “No pressure. Just offering, since I’m here.”
Oaklin looked down at their joined hands, the glow clearly visible even in the late afternoon sunshine.
It had served its purpose in identifying them to Dara, and yet Oaklin hadn’t felt quite ready to be rid of it in the days following.
Why, they weren’t sure. Some kind of penance or punishment?
Emiline wouldn’t have wanted that—and now, Oaklin found, neither did they.
“Yes. Please,” they said, taking a deep breath in and blowing it out slowly. “I’m ready.”
Lior set her food aside and moved to kneel before Oaklin, cradling both their hands in her own and closing her eyes.
“This’ll only take a moment,” she murmured.
Oaklin felt the warmth first. Not just the heat of Lior’s hands, but the tingle of magic rushing just beneath their skin.
It felt so different from their own magic, which seemed to come from everywhere all at once, threads from the land, the trees, the sky all twining together.
This magic flowed straight from Lior herself, gifted by her gods and directed by her will.
Her hands shone with the golden light of the Three’s gift, first mingling with the red glow of the curse before overtaking it completely.
After a long moment, the light faded… And all that was left were Lior’s hands gently resting over Oaklin’s. She looked up and smiled, then began packing away the picnic leftovers.
“We’ve got apples to pick, right?” Lior asked, brushing her knees off as she stood. “I agreed to help, so put me to work, farmer.”
She held out a hand to pull Oaklin to standing, which they gratefully accepted.
Lior and Oaklin climbed into the trees afterward to continue the harvest, calling jokes back and forth, alternating with periods of comfortable silence.
They hauled the many crates of apples back to the house as the sun dipped toward the horizon and began to rust into the golden oranges of evening.
Lior lingered a short while longer, picking at the leftovers from their early dinner with Oaklin in front of the hearth, sipping tea and talking about plans for the upcoming Autumn Harvest Festival.
She left, with many soft, slow kisses bestowed in Oaklin’s open doorway, just before the light faded completely.
Oaklin was embarrassingly grateful; they cared for Lior, felt lucky to have her in their life, and yet Oaklin’s emotional stamina for enduring hard conversations had not much improved in the months they’d been in Mossley’s Rest. Exhaustion hung heavy on every joint and limb, fogging their brain and dragging at their eyelids.
There were more such conversations to come, they knew. And yet, despite the difficulty, each one would be a balm, soaking bone-deep, bringing ease and healing. Oaklin would get where they needed to be.
They trusted in that, now.