Chapter 41
Though they were safe inside the fortress Trio spent years designing, the sounds of war brought little comfort to their worried minds. All of them sat and waited—watching as the vines and roots wove around Nymiria’s body until she was perfectly encased in a sort of impenetrable cocoon.
Aziel tried his best to get the vines away from her, but no matter how much he tugged and pulled at them, they would not budge.
Even the sharpest of blades could not cut through their surface.
He’d even tried entering the Otherworld, but it seemed as if Teigh had barred him from entering, surely to protect him from damning himself more than he already had.
If Aziel ventured into his realm to retrieve her soul, the implications of that action could mean death.
And as much as he would have loved to sacrifice himself to be by her side, he knew what her godhood meant to her.
He knew how badly she wanted to redeem herself, how she wanted to bring hope to a dark and cruel world shadowed in death and deception.
All Nymiria ever wanted was to do something good.
He would not kill himself and deprive her of that. Because he knew, the moment he died, she would not leave the Otherworld without him. It was just the sort of person she was.
Stubborn in her beliefs and loyal to a fault.
Even if she tried to push people away, she could never quite leave them alone, lest her guilt come swallow her like the vicious monster that it was.
Though, usually, her guilt was terribly misplaced.
He thought of this as he looked at her, as he watched her shallow breathing and the color slowly return to her face.
He thought of who she was and wondered who she would become if and when she decided to pull herself from this slumber.
Four days had passed and while her heart was beating again, she still lingered in that hazy place between life and death.
Her body was alive, but the soul had not quite found its way back just yet.
So he waited. He lingered by the mattress inside of Trio’s humble home the entire time, not even tearing himself away long enough to bathe or eat a meal.
Raven’s pleas had been heard in the throne room.
And though Dieve had been reluctant and seemed rather disappointed in the young boy’s decision, she granted him this blessing.
And if Aziel had been deemed an unmoveable force at Nymiria’s side, Raven had been even more so.
The boy slept in the chair across from Aziel’s, worry etched into the innocent lines of his face even when he was deep in his slumber.
There was no telling when she would awaken. And without him being able to enter the Otherworld, Aziel was just as clueless as the rest of them.
The others—Desi, Trio, Oran, and Fiernan—were busy with the war that roared on outside the safety of this home. After Aziel killed Everand, the king of Alvaros dispatched his forces and they descended upon Eadyn and Yaar with unrelenting and unsuspected force.
Many were dead. Many were still dying. And Aziel could do nothing.
So he watched, daily, as his friends and family dragged themselves back into the safe house, their tired bodies worn down and depleted of energy from the battlefield, and plopped themselves at the dining table.
They ate in silence.
They did not speak unless it regarded Nymiria’s wellbeing.
He waited. Drowning in the guilt of his choices, he waited. Because if he hadn’t acted so impulsively, if had been just a fraction more calculated, none of this would have happened. Despite this contrition, he could not bring himself to say that it was a death that hadn’t been deserved.
Everand Alvaros had not just stormed into Eadyn making demands of alliance. He’d stormed in with the intention to take everything that was not his, by any means necessary. Especially Nymiria.
Knowing that he’d saved her and the rest of the world from being taken advantage of by that man was the only consolation he had at the moment.
Even if it meant he would be tiptoeing around the forces that be for the rest of his life, he could genuinely say that everything that he’d done—every choice, even if they resulted in despair, had been worth it in the end.
The people of Yaar once believed him to be a demon. They believed that he would selfishly and joyfully take any life that lingered too long in his path, they believed that he was corrupt and heartless…
Aziel was starting to believe that they had been right all along. Perhaps he was selfish. Perhaps he was mean and ruthless and did things to benefit himself, feeding himself excuses as to why his choices were not just for him, but others as well.
Perhaps—
“Have you slept at all today?”
Aziel turned towards Fiernan, offering her a shadow of a smile before turning his attention back to Nymiria.
“I need to fetch her some more water.” He pushed himself to his feet and turned, only to be met with the force of Fiernan’s hand against his chest. As if feeling the darkness that crawled over his skin, her hand jerked away from him immediately, her eyes narrowing up at him.
“You’ve corrupted yourself.” She said, her voice small and kind. Her eyes betrayed her, though. Even if she was trying to seem like it did not bother her, Aziel could see the fear there. “The pain you must have felt… it must have been awful.”
He was stunned, to say the least. “It’s fine.
” He stammered, his fingers curling around the empty pitcher on the bedside table.
Without another word, he was walking towards the door that led into the washroom, fingers trembling when he reached the vanity.
He flinched at the distant sounds of cannons firing, closing his eyes when the screams finally reached his ears.
Though he hadn’t graced a battlefield in years, it was as if he were transported back to a time and place he would have preferred to forget.
Those branches on his chest contracted, pushing that familiar warmth through his bloodstream until the fear was gone.
The guilt lingered like the dull ache of a bruise being prodded, but lessened nonetheless.
“I can fix it, you know?” He paused, his body flinching at its own accord.
Whether it was due to her sudden presence in the washroom or because of the cannon blasts, he was not sure.
When Aziel still said nothing, Fiernan released a deep sigh and folded her arms in front of herself.
“It doesn’t have to be like this. Those things you hate about yourself, I can replace them with something else. You could be happy.”
The corner of his lip raised, his eyes catching her reflection looming behind him in the mirror. “What gives you the impression that I am not happy? I’m the most jovial bastard in Yaar.”
“So I’ve heard.” She chuckled.
He let the water run into the pitcher until it was full before he addressed her again.
“I do appreciate the offer, but I must decline.” He didn’t necessarily intend to give such a wide berth when he passed her by and while he inwardly hoped that she would take no offense, his mind was preoccupied with the task at hand.
Aziel returned to Nymiria’s side, taking up a clean wash cloth and dunking it into the water and bringing the corner to her lips.
The excess liquid spilled into the faint part of them, slowly rolling into her mouth drip by careful drip.
“Your brother told me about the two of you—how you are mates.” Fiernan continued. “I don’t mean to pester you at a time like this, but I am simply trying to distract myself. War is…”
Aziel spared her a glance. “Terrifying. I know. I feel it too.”
The princess hovered behind him, watching as he began to wash what little was of Nymiria’s skin. He started with her face, peeling back leaves and buds of flowers in order to wipe her clean. When he was finished, he moved to her hands. “What is it like to have a mate?”
He paused, fingers lingering on the delicate curve of Nymiria’s wrist. He brushed over the runes marking the inside of it—the shimmering and glorious evidence of their blessed union.
“It’s terrifying and painful.” He said quietly.
He looked at his bride, branches feeling as if they were now digging into his muscles.
“I’ve loved people before, but there is nothing that compares to this.
It is like the embodiment of your heart and soul encased into one perfect person.
It is terrifying to know that love cannot defeat fate and it is painful for the same reason.
But, I have never felt something quite as rewarding or pure.
I have never felt someone’s emotions besides my own, but with her…
I feel everything. I feel her, I feel love, I feel anger and pain and sadness.
I feel joy, of all things. Part of the reason why I wouldn’t want to remove this curse I’ve placed upon myself is because she’s the only person it responds to—the only thing in this whole world that it obeys.
And if she is the only person that ever sees the most vulnerable parts of me, then I am perfectly fine with that. It all belongs to her, anyway.”
Fiernan’s lips lifted slightly, eyes dropping to her hands as he spoke.
She didn’t mind letting him speak. Because the longer he talked, the more relaxed his body became.
And, perhaps, he would finally take his rest. “She absolutely despises the color red. Her favorite color is pink. Not the average pink you can achieve from dyes, but the pink that can only be found in the petal at the inside of a red rose, where the color starts to leech away. She waits exactly five minutes after tea is served before she takes the first sip. She wiggles her toes when she reads and talks to plants when she believes no one is looking. When she is nervous, she tries to mask it with anger. When she is sad, she expresses it in fury. She likes taking walks. She hates corsets and she never learned to plait her own hair, but can manage just about any style otherwise. She always makes the same face when she takes her first sip of absynthe—a mixture of disgust and intrigue and she will drink even though she hates it and prefers wine over anything. And she can catch a fish with her bare hands.”
He continued by telling Fiernan of the first time he saw her.
Their first meeting hadn’t been so unpleasant.
In fact, it was probably the most joyous day of his entire childhood.
His mother took him to the Kingdom of Nym when he was but a boy, claiming that it was a very special day for their people.
At the age of five, the only royal event he ever attended had been Oran’s cleansing ceremony and was terrified about making a fool of himself at the princess’s coronation.
His fear was not needed. They were welcomed into the queen’s palace with open arms, ushered kindly to the throne room and watched, with the rest of the kingdom, as Princess Nymiria Celentas was named crown princess of Nym.
The young girl, with wild white hair and sparkling blue eyes was carried from person to person, accepting gifts and kisses and blessings of fortitude.
When it was finally his turn to offer her blessings of prosperity, his mother had slipped a single pink flower into his hand.
He reached up as much as he could, his and Nymiria’s eyes meeting the moment their fingers touched.
But then she took the flower and was gone.
He wasn’t even sure she remembered him, if she’d made that connection about his identity at all.
For years, he believed that he was forgettable.
Disposable. Just as his father wished for him to be.
Whether or not she remembered him, it mattered very little.
The parts of himself that he’d hidden away had found a home in her, just as all of hers had found a place of sanctuary in him.
Neither of them had to navigate the world alone anymore.
If only she would just wake up.