Grief and Tunnels
COLSAR
Colsar was exhausted. He had spent the day sifting through every record in Sevrin’s study, searching for any clue, any motive someone might have had to harm Asharin.
The hardest part was pretending she was gone.
Colsar refused to believe it. The castle, however, would not let him forget. Candlelight vigils. Condolences. Flowers enough to fill entire rooms.
She could not be gone. She would come back to him. She had to.
“Majesty.”
Arabar’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.
“My sources tell me Vaelor’s ship arrived in Morrath.” He paused. “And the other Vaelor ship is now docked here in Veynar.”
Colsar nodded.
He had expected Eravic not to be aboard. After receiving word of Asharin’s death, the man had assembled a new crew and left immediately for Morrath.
What surprised him was that Junis had not remained with the ship.
Arabar had confirmed that Junis had not been aboard when the vessel docked in Veynar.
Colsar supposed his cousin had gone after Eravic.
It was the logical conclusion. Morrath was where Eravic had gone, and Junis would not abandon him easily.
Still, the absence disappointed him. Junis was one of the few people Colsar still considered unquestionably loyal, and lately that list had become painfully short.
At least Eravic had reached Morrath.
Weeks had passed without so much as a message from Teorin. The snake.
If Teorin harmed her, Colsar would never forgive himself.
And yet…
He had seen the look in Teorin’s eyes.
Teorin cared for her, twisted though it was. He cared enough to abandon the perfect opportunity to seize Rathmor’s throne.
“Report,” Colsar said, his voice flat.
“Word has been sent quietly to Uralish and Syle of Alarna. I have heard both have made haste and are already on their way.”
That was also good news. He trusted the two of them.
“Anything else?”
“The poison was identified. It is called Evkar.”
“And?”
“There is no known antidote.”
“I know,” Colsar snapped.
Arabar hesitated.
“However… the poison was found in Edrin’s chambers.”
Colsar froze. “Edrin? Rorin’s son? The page?”
The words sounded wrong even as he spoke them.
No. The boy lacked both the knowledge and the nerve. Rorin had nearly died protecting Asharin only a year ago. Why save her then only to poison her now?
None of it made sense.
He rubbed a hand over his face. “Take Rorin and Edrin to the dungeons. Separate them until I decide otherwise.”
“Majesty, General Rorin remains missing. No one has seen him since the incident.”
Fuck. He furrowed his brow. Regardless of the Alarna suspicion, the overt attackers had been Yorali. If he had conspired with them, then surely he would be there.
He looked at Arabar. “Find someone trustworthy to go to Yorali. Send an official summons requesting they hand over General Rorin.”
He found it hard to believe that Rorin was responsible. But if he was, he would certainly enjoy killing him personally.
Arabar bowed.
A soft knock interrupted them.
Iavis entered, his expression grave. He rested a hand on Colsar’s shoulder. “You need rest, Majesty.”
Colsar gave a bitter laugh. “I will not rest until I find out who hurt my wife.”
His voice cracked despite himself.
He looked up. “You should go home to your wife. She just had the babe, did she not?”
Iavis smiled despite the circumstances. “Yes. Another boy.” Pride softened his features. “Two boys now.”
Colsar managed a nod. Two.
He and Asharin were supposed to have more.
He had told her they could wait. Truthfully, he had never wanted to.
Not because he simply wanted a larger family, but because he wanted another chance. A birth where she wasn’t screaming through an undead siege. A beginning where he could give her every ounce of attention she had been denied the first time.
He wanted to watch her smile as he surprised her with every strange fruit the world had to offer with each passing month of pregnancy. Whatever she wanted, she would have. In truth, this was the case whether she was pregnant or not.
Now he might never have that chance.
“Find Tamal of Yorali,” Colsar said abruptly.
Arabar blinked. “That is the crown prince of Yorali, Majesty. We cannot simply command him—”
“We can.”
Colsar met his eyes. “The King of Yorali has heirs enough to replace him twice over, and everyone already believes grief has driven me mad.”
A humorless smile touched his mouth. “Questioning a foreign prince is exactly the sort of thing they expect from me.”
Arabar inclined his head. “I will send someone at first light. Although, Majesty, the prince of Yorali is likely not in Yorali. The word is that he travels frequently, and follows the Vaelor girl most places.”
“What Vaelor girl?” Colsar paused, realizing he did not care. “Fine. Send scouts. If he is not in Yorali, check elsewhere.”
Iavis glanced between them. “I am going to the tavern tonight with the Avanki. I am hoping one of them drinks enough to become loose-lipped about General Trophi. He remains high on my list.”
Colsar nodded.
“Dismissed.”
Iavis lingered for only a minute before leaving. The moment the door shut behind them, Colsar looked at the marking in the palm of his hand, then closed his eyes and imagined it.
Urasal swallowed him whole. He refused to stay away from the children any longer than necessary.
They were all he had left of her.
More importantly…
He trusted no one. Besides, if there was any chance she awakened and somehow found the tunnels—
Fool.
If Asharin survived, she would never be strong enough to find them.
And even if she was…
Teorin would never tell her that there was a tunnel. The realization filled him with a rage so intense it stole his breath.
He could still feel her weight in his arms.
Cold. Too cold. Her lips had already turned blue. He had watched life leave her. He knew the odds. He knew, but it did not matter.
Hope was all he had left.
The alternative would destroy him. He entered the children’s room.
Somehow Saurin, Cambra, and the attendants had transformed what had clearly been a cold, abandoned nursery into something else entirely. Two bassinets stood beside one another, surrounded by blankets and neatly folded clothes.
Warm clothes. Tiny cloaks he had brought in a trunk from their Rathmor rooms the other day. The ones Asharin had sewn herself.
She had been excited for winter because she thought they would finally fit. A queen of two realms, yet she had still sat by candlelight stitching every seam with her own hands.
His chest tightened.
Cambra stood beside the bassinets when he entered. Her eyes immediately found his.
Pity. Concern. She tried to hide both. He knew he looked terrible but he had long since stopped caring what anyone thought.
No one understood.
No one could. They thought he mourned a queen. They thought he mourned his wife. They were wrong.
Asharin had become the axis his entire world turned around. Every thought. Every plan. Every hope he had for the future began and ended with her.
Loving her had become as instinctive as breathing. Now every breath felt like something his body had to remember how to do.
All he wanted was to be wherever she was. Even if that meant six feet beneath the earth. But the children needed him. He owed her that much.
They slept peacefully in their bassinets, unaware that the world around them had collapsed.
Cambra cleared her throat carefully.
“Majesty.”
“Yes?”
“The children are growing.”
He nodded absently.
“They seem… unsatisfied with milk alone.”
Colsar frowned. “Then Fiorakis can have more of my blood.”
She hesitated. “No, Majesty. I believe they are ready for solid food.”
Everything inside him went still.
He closed his eyes. He remembered those days in the countryside earlier in the marriage. Asharin had laughed while they lay in bed. “If we have children one day,” he had told her, “they’ll sit with us. We’ll eat together every evening.”
She had smiled so brightly.
Now the children were finally old enough.
It was supposed to be the four of them.
“They can wait.”
His voice was barely audible.
“Majesty—”
“Asharin. She would not have wanted to miss it.”
He knew his response was irrational, especially because Cambra did not know about Asharin and Morrath.
Cambra lowered her eyes. “Sire… she would not want the children to go hungry.”
“Enough.”
The word came out sharper than he intended. He turned before she could answer and quietly closed the nursery door behind him.
The glass room greeted him with silence. It had once been an ordinary chamber. Now it was where he spent nearly every waking hour that he wasn’t looking for a means of saving her.
The far wall was made entirely of glass, overlooking the nursery beyond. From here he could watch the children without frightening the attendants with his constant presence, since they could not see him.
He pulled the curtain across the glass, the motion so practiced it required no thought.
Then he crossed to the corner where the hidden tunnel opened beneath the floor.
He lowered himself onto the cold stone.
The same place.
Every day. Every night.
Waiting. Knowing no one would come. Still waiting.
He had to, because hope was all he had left. Asharin would have insisted on it. She had always believed impossible things could happen. He thought of the evenings they used to spend together.
She would ask about his day in detail. She genuinely wanted to know. No one had ever listened to him the way she did. No one had ever wanted every piece of him.
Perhaps he was overreacting about the food.
Was the solid food eating truly an important milestone? It felt important, she would not want to miss it. But perhaps it was not that important. He did not know much about children. He didn’t know any of it.
“I don’t know what I’m doing, Asha Bear,” he whispered into the empty room.
“I only know that I need you.”
The ache inside his chest became unbearable. A sound tore free before he could stop it. Half roar, half sob.
“You sound like a wolf.”
A pause.
“Are you a wolf?”
A child’s voice drifted from the tunnels.
Colsar froze. For one impossible instant, he wondered whether grief had finally broken his mind.
“Who goes there?” he called.
A small light flickered farther down the tunnel.
Then a candle rounded the corner. A little girl stepped into view, barefoot in a white nightgown. She couldn’t have been older than seven or eight.
She regarded him with complete calm.
“I am Aviaryn,” she announced. “Princess of Umbrelai. They also call me the Mistress of Nightmares and Goodbyes.”
Colsar stared. “I… see.”
She frowned. “I don’t think you do.”
“…No.”
She smiled as though pleased by his honesty.
He took an instinctive step toward her.
Her expression changed immediately. “Oh.”
She held up a tiny hand. “Don’t come any closer.”
Colsar stopped.
“Why?”
“The wards.”
She pointed at the barrier between them. “Many Morrathans have burst into flames trying to leave them.”
“I imagine the opposite would happen if you tried to enter,” she said calmly. Her gaze traveled over him thoughtfully. “You would not look very nice burnt.”
Colsar stared into the darkness beyond her.
He looked back at the little girl.
“Where are you from?”
“Morrath, quite clearly.”
She giggled. “But I think you already knew that.”
His pulse quickened. “Do you know—”
“I do.”
She said it so matter-of-factly that it nearly stopped his heart. Then she stepped through the ward casually, as though she had not just warned him that he would burst into flames if he did so himself.
He was about to ask her how she was able to step through when she spoke.
“Your wife has golden eyes and hair. She likes to watch the children sleep and do other dull things, apparently.”
His breath caught. “You know her? Does she live?”
His voice cracked.
“Please.”
He hated how desperate he sounded. “Tell me anything.”
“Everything.”
“Is she alive?”
The little girl considered the question. “She’s very beautiful.”
She smiled.
Colsar swallowed hard.
“Yes.”
His voice trembled.
“But is she alive?”
“She was here last night.”
The world stopped. Every sound. Every thought. Everything.
“She watched the babies while someone read them a story.”
His knees nearly gave out. She had been here and stood only a few feet away. She had seen their children.
Alive. She was alive.
Alive.
“I told her I’d seen you sitting here before.”
The girl shrugged. “Even though I never let you see me.”
“She asked me to tell you something.”
Colsar could barely breathe.
“What did she say?”
“She said she loves you.”
The words shattered something inside him.
“And she said she’ll find a way back to you.”
The sound that escaped him was barely human. It was relief and hope and grief and love all at once. It was every emotion he’d buried over the past weeks erupted all at once. Tears blurred his vision before he even realized they had begun to fall.
“She is trapped here,” Aviaryn continued. “So I do not know how she plans to leave.”
She pointed deeper into the darkness.
“But her Adjasar was here.” She paused. “Axar. He is strong and powerful. My creatures tell me he left to find a cure and look for her killers.”
She tilted her head. “I suppose if she is not entirely dead they aren’t truly killers, necessarily.”
Colsar looked up sharply.
After a moment’s thought, she added, “I imagine you’ve already realized someone wanted your wife dead.”
He nodded slowly.
“There is danger. Not just where you are, but in Morrath too.”
Silence pressed between them.
Then Aviaryn spoke again. “She may never leave here.” She looks at him, studying him the way she might study something she found mildly interesting and not at all urgent. "The blood in this place remembers itself. Hers included." A small shrug. "It might not let her go so easily."
Colsar closed his eyes.
He expected those words to destroy him. Instead…
They didn’t. If Asharin truly could never leave, then he would wait here. Every day and every night. For as long as it took.
The children would grow and one day they would no longer need him every hour of every day. They would reach adulthood. They would reunite.
Until then, if it was truly impossible for her to come home, then he would spend the rest of his life beside this tunnel if it meant seeing her.
Aviaryn turned to leave. “Oh.” She looked back over one shoulder.
“She said she’ll be here soon.”
Then she disappeared into the darkness.