Chapter 4 Rhianelle #2
She shakes her head slightly. "I don't need to read his mind to know how he feels about you. I see it written in every glance."
The memory of him makes my heart crumble all over again.
"He'll come back."
The way she says it makes me almost believe her. "I know."
"Then why do you look like someone's dying?"
The question catches me off guard. I don't know how to tell her about the book hidden in my nightstand.
How do I tell her that I've found the key to return his mortality but can't bear to use it?
Instead of answering, I climb onto the bed and lie beside her.
"Rhianelle?"
The words lodge in my throat. If I speak them aloud, they become real. So I press my face into her shoulder and let the silence stretch between us.
Blaire strokes my hair gently, the way she used to when we were children huddled together in the dark. The world was full of monsters back then and we only had each other.
"Tell me," she whispers.
"I have something." The words come out broken against her shoulder. "Something precious. Something I love more than my own life. But I have to let it go. It's the right thing to do. But I... I don't think I can."
She's quiet for a long moment, her fingers never stopping their soothing rhythm through my hair.
"Do you remember when we were in Astefar?"
The sudden shift makes me pull back to look at her. "Of course. Everything in that cursed forest wanted to devour us or steal our names."
"But we survived." She studies my face with those knowing eyes. "Do you remember the old witch?"
My blood chills. "Elli?"
"Shh." Her hand covers my mouth gently. "Don't say her name here."
I nod against her palm and she lowers her hand.
"Do you remember what we found in her cottage?"
The memory surfaces slowly. "The bird in the golden cage."
"Yes." Blaire's eyes go distant. "It was so beautiful. Every color that existed in the world lived in those feathers. Even Astefar seemed less dark when it sang."
"It could talk," I whisper, remembering. "The bird knew our names."
"We took the cage when we ran." Her voice drops lower.
I can still feel the weight of it burning my palms. The gilded cage was too heavy for children's arms, but we carried it between us through the twisted trees. We took turns when our hands went numb, refusing to leave it behind.
"Once we reached the river crossing, we used the iron key we'd found hidden in her thatch." She pauses, taking a slow breath. "Do you remember how our hands shook?"
"Like leaves in a storm." I close my eyes. “But the bird flew away the moment the door opened. It didn't even look back."
Blaire lowers her gaze and nods. "We'd carried it for miles, bled for it, saved it from that wretched place, and it just vanished into the sky."
"I cried until I couldn't breathe," I murmur.
"So did I." She shifts carefully against her pillows.
We loved that bird with everything we had. It was the only beautiful thing in our ugly world.
"Why are you telling me this?" I ask.
Her eyes find mine, steady and knowing. "Did you ever regret freeing it?"
The answer comes without thought. "No. Never."
"Even though it hurt? Even though we wanted nothing more than for it to stay?"
"It wasn't ours to keep." The words taste like truth, bitter and clean. "It was a wild thing. Wild things aren't meant for cages, no matter how much we love them."
"Exactly." She squeezes my fingers. "Rhianelle, whatever this precious thing is that you're afraid to let go... you'll know. When the time comes, you'll know what's right. You always have."
I want to tell her she's wrong, that this is different. Svenn isn't some caged bird I can simply set free. But maybe that's exactly what he is. Maybe the book hidden in my nightstand is just another kind of key, and mortality is just another kind of sky.
"The bird was probably eaten by a hawk the moment it left us," I say, needing to break the weight of the moment.
"Maybe." A small smile plays at Blaire's lips. "Or maybe it flew all the way to the summer lands and lived a hundred happy years. We'll never know. That's what freedom means. The right to choose your own ending, even if it's not the one we'd write for them."
"You've gotten philosophical in your recovery."
"Near-death experiences will do that." She grins, then winces as it pulls at a cut on her lip. "Also, the healers' pain draughts make everything seem profound. Yesterday I spent an hour contemplating the meaning of bread."
I laugh. "So your advice is coming from drug-induced wisdom?"
Her expression grows serious again. "But truly, Rhianelle. Whatever you're carrying, just trust yourself. You've never failed to do the right thing, even when it hurts."
The right thing. I turn the words over in my mind as I think of Svenn, somewhere out there fighting through my enemies.
Blaire yawns suddenly, the healing taking its toll.
I stand, smoothing my ceremonial robes. "I should let you rest."
"Wait." Blaire gestures to the small table beside her bed. "Take the cake. I can't eat another bite and the acolytes will force it on me if it's still here in the morning."
I hesitate. "Blaire—"
"You haven't eaten today. Don't lie." She gives me a look.
I pick it up. The weight of it is small and warm in my hands.
"Rhianelle." Her voice stops me at the door. "When Svenn comes back, tell him I said thank you."
I nod and step into the corridor.
The temple halls are usually hushed on Isolwen's Eve. Even celebration carries a gentler tone beneath sacred stone.
Not today.
Bootsteps pound against marble and voices rise, urgent and clipped.
"Fetch more clean linen."
"Send for Master Caleth!"
A young acolyte nearly collides with me before skidding to a stop, her face draining of color. "Y-Your Highness?"
I catch her by the sleeve. "What's happening?"
"Lady Siofra, Your Highness. The baby is coming."
I release her and she goes.
The matron's steady voice carries through the recovery bay. I find the door at the end of the hall. Darstan stands outside it like a carved pillar of stone. His hands tremble and his jaw is clenched so tight I fear his teeth might crack.
He is my first knight. The first to step forward when the Aeonians tarnished my name and called me foolish for writing to the Orc King to free Siofra.
No one would go to Myrkheim to restore my honor. No one but a miner's son with shoulders like a mountain and eyes full of fire. He had walked into the emptied throne room and knelt on the stone floor.
I will go, Your Highness.
Darstan went to Myrkheim to retrieve her. He was not nobility but he was loyal.
Siofra had refused to return to Aelfheim. She was healing and learning to live without fear. It was only when Darstan told her how the Aeonians had shamed me that something in her shifted. They fell in love on the road home.
"Darstan."
He turns immediately and almost drops to one knee.
"Do not kneel," I say softly.
He rises at once, but his composure fractures the moment he speaks.
"The healers asked me to step outside," he says hoarsely. "They say it may be difficult."
Of course it will be.
The lord of Celestria who once called himself her husband had taken a blade to her more times than he ever had on any battlefield. He severed her voice when she dared to scream.
"If it comes to a choice," he says roughly, not looking at me. "I told them to choose her. I will not lose her."
The words tear out of him. I hear the determination and the guilt in his voice. He keeps forgetting that Siofra insists on carrying this child. She made this choice herself, the way she makes every choice now that she finally can.
"The healers will not surrender either life lightly," I say quietly.
He doesn't answer, but the rigid set of his shoulders lowers a fraction. That is all the comfort he will allow.
The door opens a crack. A young acolyte peers out. "My lord? She's asking for you."
"Go," I tell him.
He doesn't hesitate.
I don't follow. There is nothing I can offer in that room that the healers cannot do better. I press my back to the wall beside the door and do the only thing left to me.
I bow my head. Anastarros, Lord of Mending. She has suffered enough. Let this not be another cruelty.
My prayers do not stop there.
I call upon the Seventy-Seven. I call upon the Un.
Every string of magic I ever gathered in Astefar. Every blessing I stole from darkness. Every scrap of power that once clung to my bones. I offer it back.
Please, let her live.
My blessings remain untouched but the corridor grows strangely still. A presence brushes the edges of my mind, small and curious.
One of the Un.
A child? You ask much tonight, her voice slipping into my mind.
I steady my breathing.
"Not for me," I whisper within the silence. "For Siofra."
The presence lingers for one suspended heartbeat.
Then it vanishes with no promise or blessing.
I keep praying anyway.
Isolwen. If you hear anything tonight, hear this. The healers said it was a miracle she could carry this child. So let the miracle hold. Let it hold just a little longer.
The door opens.
I straighten.
The matron who steps out looks tired and flushed. She sees me and pauses, surprised. "Your Highness. I didn't know you were—"
"Is she well?"
A real smile breaks through her exhaustion. "Both of them. Mother and son."
I close my eyes for just a moment. Then I step inside and peer silently through the curtain.
Siofra lies pale against white sheets, dark hair damp against her temples.
Darstan is seated beside her, his enormous hands cradling something impossibly small.
Tears track down his face openly. The knight who has stood at my back through battles and trials is crying.
I have never once seen him so undone. He holds the bundle with the careful terror of someone convinced he might break it.
The child looks pink and entirely unbothered.