26. Revi
Revi was sick of his healers. They’d let Enlo visit, and his steward, but only for brief spurts—the bare essentials to keep the Court functioning, they said.
Revi didn’t want to see Enlo, and his steward was too busy following his orders to exchange pleasantries.
Pleasantries weren’t what he wanted, anyway.
He wanted to see Kienna. He craved her smile, her gentle touch. He’d barely managed to visit her a few nights before; dreamwalking took more finesse than he had in him in his current state, and that dream had left him too drained to repeat since.
So it was to his complete delight when her voice clashed—quietly—with his healers outside his door shortly after he woke.
He pushed himself to his feet, easing himself off his bed with a pained huff. He made his way to the door and nudged it open.
The two healers and Kienna turned to him, their argument lost at the sight of him on his feet.
“She may enter,” he growled in Elyri.
“Your Highness, you really need—”
“A visitor to entertain me so I don’t die from boredom.” He turned a glare on the healers. “Go find yourself breakfast. Lady Kienna and I will be fine for an hour.”
They paled at his wolfish ire and bowed deeply, fleeing without another word.
He resisted the urge to sag against the wall. If one glanced back and saw, they’d overrule him, prince or not.
Instead, he turned, leaving the door open for Kienna. “Come sit,” he said in Kasmian Common, unsure how much of the Elyri exchange she’d understood.
He returned to his bed on unsteady legs, climbing up and dropping heavily. He was stronger than he’d been, but definitely nowhere near his full strength.
“You’re awake.” Kienna forewent the chair by the bed, instead settling beside him. Her hands moved toward him, but she stopped herself short of touching him. He wished she hadn’t. “No one would let me see you while you were healing. I was so worried.”
Her words twisted something in him. The idea of this beautiful, kind woman worrying about him was almost more than he could bear.
“I apologize,” he said after a moment, “for the way I lost my temper in the forest. I was not myself.”
She shook her head wildly, making her hair sway around her face. “I’m sorry. I should have kept my word.”
He grunted. She should have, but he had already made his thoughts on that clear, so he said nothing else. And he’d never explained the dangers of venturing beyond the walls to her. He had only himself to blame for that, like so many other things.
“How are you feeling?” Her hands inched toward him again, finally daring to rest on his fur; it made him want to lean into her and rumble in pleasure.
“I’m healing.”
“Good. That’s... that’s good.” She smiled, but there was something about her expression that seemed anything but good.
He studied her. “What’s wrong?”
She bit her lip.
Something protective—murderous, perhaps—rose in him. “Did Enlo hurt you?”
Her brows drew together briefly before she shook her head. “No one’s hurt me. I’m just… worried about the Court. About the drought. Won’t you tell me what causes it?”
He gave a tired laugh. “Questions again?”
“Yes.” She sounded frustrated. “Let me help you. I can’t if I don’t know the truth.”
The truth. He wasn’t sure what the truth was. Maybe that she’d somehow gone from a nuisance to him to a comfort, a presence he ached for. She represented hope—and not only so his Court would revive, but that he could be what she believed he could. But he barely knew how to make sense of that thought, much less felt at ease to share it with her.
No. He wouldn’t make everything worse by baring those nebulous sentiments to her.
“Do not worry yourself with Elyri matters,” he muttered, looking away.
Her sigh was heavy in the air. Laden with disappointment. But he couldn’t pull himself apart to examine his own feelings while she watched, especially not when he didn’t know how he would look when he understood enough to piece himself back together.
“I... I dreamed of my father last night.” He glanced back at her. She shifted, her gaze dropping to her hands. “That he’s horridly ill. I know it was only a dream, but a part of me is afraid. What if it isn’t? What if he dies and I never get to say goodbye?”
Just like that, every other thought halted.
“You want to go home to him.” The words came out flat, stiff.
Hope lit her eyes, but she shook her head.
“I know I can’t. I made a bargain to stay here for a year and a day, and I’ll see that through.” For her father. The words hovered unspoken in the air. Even now, after all this time, she wasn’t here for Revi. She was here for her father, to save him from a worse fate. “But perhaps if you’d just let me use the kindred stone I brought with me—”
“You can.” Suddenly he was so very tired. Tired of the charade of pretending there was any hope of winning Kienna’s heart. She could never love a beast, but—
The truth sliced into him, all sense of uncertainty stripped away in light of the certainty of losing her.
The truth was that he cared about her. She was joy and hope and light in his life. He was—he hardly dared admit it, even to himself—in love with her. Hopelessly, since she would never return his feelings. And that impossibility was achingly obvious, mocking him at every turn.
He cared about her. And he didn’t want her to suffer with the rest of his Court as his magic faded and summer consumed them, as it was and would inevitably continue doing, without her returning his love. Better to send her home. There was no point in dragging her down with his doomed Court.
“You can,” he said again into the stillness of the room. “With my magic, you could go home. You could be there today.”
She had frozen at his words. “I could go home?” she whispered.
“With my true name, you would have access to my magic. Magic you could use to travel there instantly.” He didn’t add that doing so would take most of his magic out of him, and with how the magic was fading from his Court, he wasn’t entirely sure he could replenish it. Or how the Court would fare with a vacuum of magic, however brief.
But if she left, all hope left with her anyway. Maybe it would be better to let his Court die quickly—as it probably would if his magic was completely drained away—instead of this slow, painful burning one day at a time.
“Thank you,” she said fervently. “I’ll come back. I promise.”
He nodded. There would be nothing to come back to, but he didn’t have the heart to tell her that. He didn’t want her to stay out of a sense of obligation.
“What do I do? When can I leave?”
He looked away. As beautiful as her hope was, he couldn’t bear to watch it bloom across her face.
“You can leave now, if you want,” he admitted, his voice low.
There was only a moment’s hesitation before— “I do.” She was unable—if she even tried—to conceal the eagerness in her voice. “Yes, please. What do I do?”
He swallowed down the protests that wanted to rise in his throat. He didn’t want her to go. He was not ready. He would never be ready.
“First you say my name, my true name,” he said instead, working to keep his voice neutral.
Her gaze flew up to his. “Your true name?”
“Every Elyri has a name they give most people, and a true name they never share—because it gives the speaker power over them.”
Her eyes widened. They were as deeply green as ever, with her golden hair like the sun around her face.
“My true name is…” He closed his eyes. “Reviam.”
“Reviam.” The name was almost reverent on her lips. It had never sounded sweeter.
He cleared his throat. “And then this phrase: ‘a pocheska suknish.”
“Reviam ‘a pocheska suknish.” She spoke the Elyri words gingerly, and a shudder went through him as his magic responded, reaching for her of its own accord.
She had complete power over him now, and she probably didn’t even realize it.
“Good,” he said. “Now, your father’s name, and vozidnytsa. Practice that before you add his name to it.”
She repeated the phrase until Revi was satisfied with her pronunciation and gave her a nod. “Now add his name and focus on him in your mind. Once you say it, it may take a few moments. Magic for me is instantaneous, but when you’re using it, there might be a delay.”
She hesitated. “Will it hurt?”
“It will be cold,” he said. “My magic is always cold, but it should not hurt you.”
She nodded, pressing her lips together and pushing her shoulders back. “I’m ready.”
“Go ahead,” he murmured, unable to look away from her. It was the last time he’d ever see her, and he wanted nothing more than to drink her in.
“Colm Boden vozidnytsa.” She blinked and looked around. “Did it...” She bit her lip. “Did it work?”
Revi could already feel the cold pull of his magic moving through him. Sluggish, slow, icy. Like it didn’t want to move by someone else’s will.
But it was moving. She’d be gone in moments.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “Goodbye, Kienna.”
“I’ll be back soon,” she promised. “In a few days. Just once I’ve made sure my father is well.”
He shook his head. The magic was moving faster now, pouring from him in great drafts. “You mustn’t use my magic to return. It could have devastating effects from such a distance.”
Kienna opened her mouth to protest, sharp concern filling her face, but he pushed his head towards her hand, desperate for her touch one last time. The movement cut her words off.
“I’ll remember you until the end. Every moment.” He couldn’t help a pained smile. “My favorite was the ice skating. Thank you for sharing that with me one last time.”
“Revi—” But her words were lost. With a gust of cold wind that swirled around him, ruffling his fur, she was gone.