Chapter 8
On the cliffside, Arawn could see the younglings and Knights and Scribes waiting, all those who’d gathered to watch this Descent. His father was among them, but from here, he couldn’t tell where he was. He didn’t want to see his face, because what if Draybor knew?
A trained eye could see the way Soraya had pulled back. How she’d let Arawn take the lead at the last second.
Failure, his mind hissed. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
He directed Cyrra back to the wards, the tension easing from her wings as they cut through them and soared once more to the yawning mouth of the Eagle’s Nest.
Into the spring, they went, past feathery evergreens and aspens full of dancing green leaves. He landed Cyrra awkwardly – she’d need a true Eagleminder to get her ready for a real landing, in the real heat of war – but she was his now.
He’d claimed her with the Descent, just as he’d claimed First Rider position with the win.
It’s not yours, Arawn’s mind hissed. She let you have it.
Soraya landed beside him, her face downcast. Her eyes were no longer as bright as they had been, so high up in the sky. She pressed her hand to her eagle’s side, whispered something to her...and pressed a kiss to her beak as she slid down to the forest floor.
Few would be brave enough to do it.
Arawn waited until the others left to celebrate. They were Riders now, just as all the others who’d survived the Descent before them. They had reached the highest status of a Lordachian Sacred Knight. Their gods would be pleased with them.
But Soraya wasn’t smiling, and neither was Arawn.
“Soraya!”
He called her name as she headed to the barn, walking faster than normal.
She took off her riding jacket and left it in a crumpled ball, as she always did, on the floor outside of her eagle’s stall.
Still, she didn’t look back, as if this were any other day.
As if she’d head to the woods and go right back to her daily life.
..without saying a word to him. “Soraya, please!”
She left the barn.
So, he followed, hot on her heels. They reached the trees, and it was just the two of them alone on the path when Arawn reached out and grabbed her hand.
“Sora.”
Finally, she paused.
She glanced down at the hand that held hers.
His heart thumped against his ribcage. He sucked in a breath, because though they’d trained together, sparred together and soared across the sky together and bathed in the light of a sunrise.
Somehow...when her eyes slid slowly up to meet him, it was the closest he’d ever felt to her. The most connected, her skin pressed against his.
There were tears in her eyes, and she did not move to wipe them away.
He admired how boldly she had always let them fall.
“Why did you do it?” he asked.
She sniffed, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “Do what?”
“Don’t,” Arawn said. “Don’t pretend you don’t know, Soraya. You had the win. First Rider was yours to claim. You pulled back.”
She looked down at their hands again.
He had the feeling he should let go. But no part of him wanted to. So, he stayed brave a little while longer, and held onto her, though he didn’t dare do what he wanted, and run his thumb across her skin.
“I...” She swallowed, sniffing again. And then she locked eyes with him. “I did it because I see you, Arawn.”
He wasn’t sure what she meant, but he’d happily stare into that amber sea for as long as it took for her to explain it to him.
“I see you for your crown,” she whispered.
“Your future. The pressure put on you to always do what is best. I’d be a fool not to notice the way you flinch when the King is near.
The way you look at him like you’re a child again.
” She offered him a sad smile. He wondered if he could feel his heartbeat.
..how it raced when she touched him. “Kinlear says he never once tucked him in bed. Did you know that?”
Arawn said nothing.
Because for some reason...it sent a sad and sudden twinge through his heart, to hear his brother’s name on her lips.
It did not belong here.
Not in this moment.
“But that’s the way it is, in the Citadel.
It’s the way it is for all Sacred. But I know what would have happened, if you took Second Rider,” Soraya said.
“I know the penance, because it’s written all over my body, and.
..” She blinked back fresh tears. “You’re not broken by them yet, Arawn. Not the way we are.”
We.
He didn’t have the heart to ask in full what she meant.
So, he squeezed her hand, and said, “You should have taken First.”
“No,” she said. And it was her that stepped forward, her that closed the space between them.
He stood still as a statue when she put her arms around his waist. When she laid her head against his chest and hugged him.
Held him.
“Some people are worth losing for,” she whispered against his chest.
He wanted to wrap his arms around her. To hold her there forever...because he’d never felt anything like this. His body was warm and his magic sizzled, embers desperate to blaze to the surface.
Was this what it was like to find a Matching? To be understood by someone...as if without her, the very best parts of him might not exist?
But then she pulled away. And he was left cold, and wanting something he hadn’t really understood to begin with.
“Take the gift,” Soraya said. “Accept it, because I wouldn’t have given it if I didn’t believe in you, Arawn. If I wasn’t proud to serve at your side. Proud to follow my Crown Prince.”
His heart thumped again.
He was about to step forward. To bring her back to him, to ask her how she felt...if perhaps maybe, just maybe...their hearts were meant to be more than just friends.
Please, he prayed to Vivorr. Please...I’ll do anything if you let her be my Matched.
Because a Sacred could ask. They could ask the Master, just once, to place their union before a vote, and see if it would be blessed.
He was about to ask her for a chance, about to be truly brave...when a voice suddenly broke through the woods. His father’s servant, rushing towards him, a letter in his hand.
“Sir!” the boy shouted, robes settling around him as he paused, breathless.
“Can it wait?” Arawn asked, heart sinking to his toes.
Because he could feel the distance growing between him and Soraya. He could feel the moment fading, gone in a puff of smoke, and he wanted so badly to reel it all back in.
“No,” the servant said. “It’s not that!” He took another heaving breath. “It’s your brother, Crown Prince! Kinlear...he’s back.”
It wasn’t Arawn who gasped...but Soraya.
Soraya, whose face shifted, whose eyes left him.
And she ran. From the woods, she ran, as if she’d sprouted wings of her own. As if she would not be second in this.
To race towards the finish line, and it was not Arawn...but him.
The other twin.