Chapter 26 Seren #2
“I would not have survived this life without you. I would have withered and died of loneliness and fear. I would have allowed the king to raise me into a true monster. You are my moral compass. You are the sun by which I light my path. You are my sister—blood be damned—and I cannot watch this a moment longer.” Théo was breathing hard by the time he had finished. He still held Ayla in the softest grip.
“Then maybe you shouldn’t watch… If you can’t handle the weight of running a kingdom, maybe you should walk away.” Ayla scrubbed her hand over her swollen eyes, brushed her chestnut hair away from her face.
“Don’t say that, Ayla. Do not do this.”
Was it possible? To bleed from the inside out? His heart ached, truly ached within his chest. Mine thumped in imperfect time.
“Even if it’s the truth?” She whispered.
“It is so far from the truth!” He shouted, raising his voice at her for the very first time. “You know this is wrong! You know this isn’t justice. It is cruelty, and it will eat you alive.”
Ayla smiled, but it did not reach her red-rimmed eyes. In the depths of them, Théo saw the truth. She would let her duty lead her to ruination. She would dim her brightness to please her family. She would become a shell of herself, and still it would not be enough.
“Ayla!” He shouted, reaching for her as she walked away. “Ayla!”
I turned, hands reaching alongside his—unbidden—but she was already gone.
The shadows grew long, jumping and stretching rapidly alongside the ever changing dreamscape. Candlelight flared to life in the chandeliers as night fell, wreathing us in warm, twinkling light.
“You dare defy me? What do you expect to happen should you turn your back on your king?” The words were thunderous—resonant and smooth—but dangerous nonetheless.
I turned back to Théo. Ayla was gone, but he was not alone. I tried to make out the figure beside Théo, but his face was still shadowed.
Your king. I mulled the words, tasting the wrongness of them on my tongue, feeling Théo’s ire like fire-forged metal—glaring red.
It was too much, the emotion too strong, and I was helpless against the current. I merged with Théo—saw through his eyes, spoke through his mouth.
“I cannot serve the crown any longer. Not when you use your position to further the rich while tramping the poor further into the dirt you have buried them in. I will not aid your senseless slaughter of humans in Ordelés. I have given enough of my soul to a cause I do not believe in. I will do it no longer.” Théo’s face was grim, his words impassioned but firm.
Silent tears tracked down the pale curve of his cheeks.
The king scoffed, his brutal hand waving in a dismissive gesture. “You think you have a choice? Ungrateful brat. I have given you everything. I took in a nameless immigrant child and made you a member of the Royal Council.”
“That’s right! You took,” Théo interrupted. “You did not ask. You wanted control over my mágik so you forced me into your servitude. You manipulated an innocent child into committing atrocities in your name. You have done me no favors.”
“Of course, I wanted you for your mágik. If I could have plucked it from your spineless body, I would have done so. Power over life itself.” He laughed darkly. The king drew closer to Théo, trailing a thick finger down the side of his face. “Such a rare gift. Such a disappointment.”
The king turned, hand raised to beckon the guards. They marched forward, the steady drum of their boots echoing through my mind like an omen. “Take him to the dungeon.” Then, to Théo, “We shall see how long it takes you to bow before me once more.”
Théo’s expression was answer enough. As I shuttered back into myself, I saw his emotions written plainly on his face. Never again would he perpetuate classism and violence. Never again would he lay claim to an unjust king.
“I might have turned the other cheek,” Théo rumbled, voice roughened with anger. “I might have done all that you asked if you had treated Ayla with the respect and care she is owed. You don’t deserve me, and you certainly don’t deserve her.”
The king snarled, swiping a vase in his meaty hands and sending it crashing into the wall. Glass shattered, spilling across the ballroom floor like ice. “Get him out of my sight!”
Fear rocketed through me—my own fear—and I jerked away.
The guards hauled Théo through the ballroom, and I reached for him—a cry rising in my throat.
He blinked, head cocked. They were brutal in their task, far more violent than they needed to be.
They dug their gauntleted fingers deep into his arms, prodding him in the back with the sharp points of their swords.
Though I was in my own body once more, I felt the bruises pressing blue into my biceps. Cold steel sent a shiver up my spine.
“It doesn’t matter,” Théo began, so very calmly, “if one is royal or a peasant. In the end, the chains still bite the same brutal bruises along wrists. Cell bars still rattle ominously, snicking shut like a death toll. I am only the first. They will come for you too, if you are not careful.”
The guards shifted nervously, not at ease until they had tossed him in the dank cell and thrown away the key. They retreated, eager to leave Théo’s dire warning in the cold dark.
Théo was alone, breath fogging. His chest panged with a rasping cough. But he did not scream for help. He did not fight to free himself. He only settled on the rough stone, closed his swimming eyes, and prayed to the Goddesses one last time.
Darkness pooled, wrapping around me and pulling, pulling, pulling.
I felt unmoored, both awake and asleep. In the dungeon with Théo, and in the warmth of the cottage, Harkin by my side. I tried to remind myself that the dreams were not real, no matter how vividly they appeared to me.
But there was the vague inkling, yet again, that the dreams were getting stronger. Where they had once been a mere wash of color and light and muffled sound, I now experienced them as if I were truly there. I feared they might overtake me.