Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
My Jesenia,
The eastern road is colder than I remembered. The wind cuts through armor as if it were cloth, and at night the fires burn low no matter how much wood we feed them. The men complain of the cold. I do not.
I have known colder things.
We reached the river pass at dawn yesterday.
What remains of Sunspire is quiet now. Stone still smolders where flame kissed it last, and the air smells of wet ash and iron.
I walked the streets myself. I made certain the wounded were tended before I ever accepted water or rest. You would have approved of the order in which I did things.
My men fight well. They are brave. They believe in what they protect. That belief carries them farther than steel ever could. Still, at night, when the camp settles and even the horses grow still, my thoughts wander somewhere warmer.
I find myself thinking of Solmiris at this hour—of the way the light catches the high windows just before dusk, turning the marble soft instead of blinding. I think of quiet rooms and open air and the sound of breathing not my own.
There are moments when the weight of command presses so heavily that I forget what it feels like to simply be. In those moments, I remember a voice that speaks without fear even when surrounded by those who wish it silent. I remember hands that mend rather than break.
There is a thought I carry into battle with me. A place I intend to return to. It is not marked on any map, nor defended by walls. It is simply…where I am most myself.
Know that I am unharmed. Know that I am careful, even when I do not appear so. I have kept my promise to you.
And know that every night I measure the distance between where I stand and where I wish to be.
Yours,
Val-Theris
Dearest Val-Theris,
The refugee quarter is restless in your absence, but not unkind. There are fewer arguments at the ration lines when your name is spoken aloud. It seems even those who do not know you understand that you are trying. I think that matters more than you realize.
I walk the same paths as before. I tend the same hands, soothe the same fevers, listen to the same griefs spoken only when no one else is near. Life continues because it must.
Still, I miss you most when the work is done and there is no one left to be brave for. I find myself listening for footsteps that do not come.
You spoke of returning to a place not marked on any map. I think I know it. I think it is the same place I go to when I need sanctuary.
Be careful with yourself, Val-Theris. I will not ask you to hurry back. I know better than to bargain with war. But my heart wishes for it all the same.
And when you return, I will be here.
Always,
Jesenia
My Jesenia,
Today was not kind to us.
We lost too many before the sun reached its height.
Good men—some young enough that they had barely tasted what life could offer.
My men are tired. They fight because they must, because I ask it of them, because they believe in our nation and in me.
But belief frays when the cost lies dead in front of them.
Tonight they look at me differently. They ask silently: Was this worth it?
I stood among them after dusk, listening to the wind move through our camp, and I realized something unsettling. I know how to command them. I know how to lead them into battle. But I do not always know how to carry them through the aftermath.
I find myself wishing you were here, because you understand grief without turning it into spectacle.
Tell me something, Jesenia. Something I can give them when duty feels like too much to ask.
With all my weary heart has to give,
Val-Theris
Dearest Val-Theris,
Grief and suffering is not a failure of their strength. It is proof that what they loved mattered. Tell them that the dead do not measure that love by how loudly we suffer, but by how we choose to live afterward.
You carry them farther than you know, Val-Theris, and I believe that is because they look to you and see you standing among them. You don’t ask of them what you are not willing to give yourself, and that makes you a soldier worth dying beside, not a king that demands they still stand while broken.
Always,
Jesenia
My Jesenia,
I told the men what you said, and perhaps one day I can admit to them that it is your words that gave them strength that night.
In the days since, we moved on to the border where we found a company of Korvath’s soldiers.
We held the line at first light yesterday.
Korvath’s banners burned before noon. That should bring relief.
Instead, it has given my thoughts too much room to wander.
The men cheered when the smoke cleared, but I found myself unable to join them.
Instead, I thought of you, and of hands that know how to coax hope from wounded soil. I wondered what you would do with a place like this.
Oftentimes, my thoughts wander and betray my vigilance. Very unbecoming of a king, but I shall make the admission to you:
I wake sometimes with your name already on my tongue, after dreaming of running my fingers through your soft hair and the way my feathers tremble at your touch.
I am returning soon, and there is so much I want to say when I see you again. Things I have no courage for on paper. Things that belong to you alone, not to couriers and seals.
If fate is kind, I will say them to you myself before the next full moon.
Until then, know this: there is not a step I take that does not lean toward you.
I remain yours, more than duty allows me to confess,
Val-Theris
Dearest Val-Theris,
The people watch the gates more closely.
They speak your name with something like faith, though I wish they would not place such a fragile thing in the hands of war.
I fear my people are turning from their nature to reject such things.
I have heard talk that what able-bodied men of Lunareth remain would defend Solmiris despite everything, because they continue to believe in you.
In the meantime, I try to be what they need. But when night comes and the lanterns dim, I allow myself the selfishness of imagining your return, and how warm my heart will be in your embrace.
I imagine your wings catching the light at the gates. I imagine the sound of your voice before I see your face. Sometimes I imagine nothing more than the weight of your presence nearby, enough to remind me that I am not alone.
Come back to me safely. That is all I ask. Should you return in the night after sleep has taken me, I beg you—wake me with the touch of your lips against mine.
Always,
Jesenia