Sounds Complicated #3
Those days were a ways off. The long evenings of winter were tipping the scales in favor of the vampires who thrived in the nights. In our youth, we were always warned about staying out after dark with tales of vampires who would nab defiant children.
I believed the stories then because I didn’t know better. Now, I believed them, but it wasn’t the Southern Hive vampires who I thought would be the culprits of kidnapping.
I couldn’t sit by and let the Northern Hive continue their way of life. It had to be stopped. The weight of responsibility, knowing how many lives would be ruined or lost if Eryx rose to power, far exceeded the weight of conflict I hoarded about Rhazien.
“Alba, we’re friends, right?” I chewed on my cheek.
“Yes, Reyva,” she said softly, laying her hand atop mine. “I’d say we are.”
A soft smile spread across my cheeks in relief. I needed a friend. “I’m struggling. And afraid of so much right now. I’m stuck and confused and I just need to talk it out with someone.”
The choice between the two paths was simple. One was dark and ominous. It had hungry, twisting vines reaching for flesh in the pitch darkness. The other wasn’t just clear. It was well-lit, well-maintained, with a throne at the end of it.
Who wouldn’t choose the path that was not only less dangerous but also created the most good for the most people?
“You can talk to me.” She patted my hand. “I’m all ears and can be tight-lipped.” She mimicked sealing her mouth and throwing away a key. The moment of levity made me realize it had been days since I’d laughed.
“I’m unsure,” I lowered my voice to a whisper. “About being bound to Rhazien. The permanence is…overwhelming.”
Her eyes widened in realization. “Are you—” she weighed her words carefully “—thinking of rejecting the offer?”
“It’s just…all happening so fast. Why couldn’t we wait? Even until next year?” There. I’d said it. Heat pricked the corners of my eyes.
She studied me before saying, “He’d asked me to encourage you.”
“Who? Rhazien?” I dabbed at the tears before they had a chance to fall.
Alba nodded. “It’s why I’ve been making myself scarce. I didn’t want to pressure you. This decision should be entirely yours and not influenced by anyone else around you.”
“I thought Shaw said something to you about—never mind.” No need to overexplain or dwell. I’d concocted a story in lieu of just asking her. Relief and appreciation swelled in me, filling my heart and inspiring a new set of tears.
Alba ran a hand through her golden mane, tucking it behind her ear as she said, “The regent has never been bound, and there’s a reason for that.
He seems to think this is right. But no matter if you’re royalty or a commoner in this Hive, you are an equal part of the ceremony.
You have to choose. It’s what you want.”
It wasn’t unlike the speech Rhazien had given me, but when he spoke to me about it, I knew his desired outcome. It was the illusion of choice and that gnawing sense of impending disappointment was always present.
Alba, who also had much to gain from my agreement to be bound, didn’t press. Didn’t inquire. She didn’t diminish the weight of it, but she also didn’t make me feel like the entire fate of diplomatic relations between vampires and humans hung on my choice.
“Thank you,” I said, sniffling. Her weighted words landed like a feather.
“You’re welcome,” she said softly. “And, regardless of your choice, your life still matters, Reyva. I think we tend to put our worth in things outside ourselves. I want you to know, even if you don’t do this, you still matter.”
Tears fell with abandon. I felt both seen and exposed, and I was embarrassed.
We sat there together in a comfortable silence, one I thought was only achievable when you’ve known someone a long while. She was a better friend to me than anyone had ever claimed to be in Illica’s court.
“I can’t see him tonight,” I said as my emotions subsided and I worked to compose myself.
She stood with purpose and wrapped her veil over her head. “I’ll send word you’re unwell.”
“I don’t deserve you.” I looked up at her through blurry eyes. “Thank you.”
Before she left, she placed her hand on my shoulder. “It will be okay.”
Will it? Could it?
The door shut softly behind her and I turned to face my reflection.
Mentally, I was back in human keep. Sunken cheeks. Pale skin. Confused. I pulled at the bags under my eyes and tucked my hair behind my ears.
It seemed too simple and so silly not to consider it—what Alba had said.
It will be okay.
I wondered if I said it, if the feeling would sink into my bones and chase away the hopelessness and dread that had taken residence within me.
“It will be okay,” I said to myself as I sat up straighter.
“It will be okay,” I repeated, stronger than the time before, and a small kernel of strength I thought I’d lost planted itself in my chest. The words watered it, gave it the sun it needed. I could host it. Nurture it into existence.
“I—” I started, faltering before leaning back into the mantra. “I matter. And I will be okay.”