44. Chapter 44 #2
“So that future generations may not be blindsided,” she said. “So that they might see the warnings and seal the cracks before they become fissures in the very fabric of the world... as we allowed them to.”
“The calamity was not your fault, mea anima,” he soothed.
“I am as much at fault as anyone,” she said, unapologetic. “I will not leave our descendants to the same fate. I will not leave them fumbling in the dark for a cure that does not exist, to an illness that is a symptom of something so much larger.”
He stiffened, putting more space between them. “If they find themselves seeking a cure for the illness, you know as well as I that they will be too far gone to intervene — as we were.”
The woman winced. “Not necessarily,” she said.
“So, what then? You would pass these foreboding memories along, preferring to have our kingdom - our people - live in fear of something that will not come to pass until they are long dead and buried?” He scoffed, shaking his head derisively. “I should not like us to live like that.”
“We should not live at all,” she said bitterly.
His eyes snapped back to hers, anger contorting his features as the weight of this ongoing conflict between them burned like salt in an open wound.
“You blame me still,” he observed. “You will make me out to be some monster for making the best of a terrible situation. Lives were at stake! The continent was at stake! What would you have done?”
“I would have died,” she shouted, her voice breaking as she flung her hands out to the sides. “I would have died alongside you, my morals unbent and unbroken. I would have welcomed the end with you at my side had you been the man I’d thought you to be.”
The flames in the lanterns flickered wildly as sparks flashed through Roan’s irises.
In two long strides, he closed the space between them.
She tensed, but he reached around her, swiping one powerful arm across the length of the desk she had worked at.
The memory stone arced through the air, landing several feet away on the stone floor, shattering into jagged pieces.
Her pulse beat hard in her throat as her breathing came fast and shallow. He straightened, speaking to her without meeting her eyes, his own chest rising and falling rapidly.
“You will stop this folly, and place your focus on moving forward. On ruling our kingdom,” he commanded, in a tone that brooked no argument.
She was unable to stop the bitterness in her tone as she spoke. “On giving you heirs, you mean?”
He stilled as though she’d slapped him, all traces of anger, of frustration slipping off his face instantly, replaced by one of complete horror. He dropped to his knees, seeming not to register the crack of his kneecaps on the stone floor.
“No, Etara. Mea anima,” he pled, his hands slipping down her arms to grip her hands in his own. “I’m sorry. That is not what I meant. I would never force you into my bed.”
Her lip wobbled as he pressed his lips to the insides of her wrists, his touch featherlight and reverent.
“Never. Never,” he murmured against her skin, looking up at her, unshed tears brimming in his unblinking eyes, panic illuminating them. “Please tell me you know that.”
She nodded. “I know,” she said, a small sob tearing itself from her throat as her own tears traced tracks down her cheeks. “I’m sorry.”
He stood then, cupping her face in his large hands, brushing her tears away with a swipe of his thumbs. “You have nothing to apologize for,” he soothed, pressing his lips to her forehead as she leaned into the safety of his embrace. “It is I who should apologize. Again. I love you. I love you.”
She inhaled a shaky breath, feeling her lungs swell with air, with the life she should not live. “I love you too.”
“But mea anima,” he said softly, and she fought the urge to tense up. But? she thought.
“I cannot live like this,” he murmured into her hair.
“Ruminating on my choice for all eternity. Whether it was the right one for my people, for the world… for us. I must move forward.” He pulled back just far enough to rest his forehead gently against her own, his hand tangling in her thick, chestnut hair.
“Together, you and I will usher in a new era of prosperity. For Vaeloria. For the continent. They will sing of the Starfire fae for generations to come. But I do not wish to do that without you by my side.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, a fresh surge of tears slipping over her cheekbones as she inhaled again. Then, she steeled herself inside, forcing a small, false smile for his benefit.
“Then we should get to work,” she said.
His face broke into a smile that transformed his features, stretching across his face. His eyes shone again, this time with a mixture of relief and true, unfiltered happiness. He kissed her then, and she leaned into him, his body as familiar as her own was to her.
“Together,” he said against her lips, “We will rebuild the world.”
She watched him take his leave, her false smile fading. Frowning, she stooped to gather the five misshapen shards that remained of the memory stone she’d spent the day imbuing, placing them on the table.
“I commend your efforts, even if His Majesty does not.”
The voice seemed to seep out of the shadows in the library, and she started, pressing a hand to her chest as she turned to the familiar figure.
“Asmarin. You startled me."
The Seer inclined her head slightly, her pitch black hair wound tightly in place where it was piled atop her head. “My apologies, Your Grace.”
She waved her off. “Just Etara, please. How many times must I insist?”
"Very well. Etara." Asmarin moved forward in a swish of pale robes, her almond-shaped eyes trailing over the shards of stone on the table.
“I understand his Majesty is intent on a royal procession throughout both the fae courts and beyond, into the other realms. To oversee the war recovery efforts and ensure political and economic stability, I presume.”
Etara sighed, defeated. "Yes. We are scheduled to leave Eastfall within the next few days."
The Seer reached out long, delicate fingers to brush the jagged stone shards. "Five memory shards. Five realms,” she observed, sliding her eyes to Etara, “Auspicious.”
Etara blinked, catching her meaning immediately. Her own gaze moved to a tapestry that hung on the wall behind Asmarin. She moved toward it, running her fingers along the borders that separated the realms. Was it possible?
“Roan cannot know. And I will need trustworthy keepers,” Etara murmured, deep in thought. She turned, casting a sharp look at Asmarin over her shoulder.
“I would be honoured,” the woman said simply. Etara smiled.
She moved back to the desk, brushing a hand over one of the shards as she blew out a long breath. "They cannot hold as much memory, shattered as they are.”
“So you imbue each with as much memory as you can,” Asmarin shrugged.
“The most pertinent parts. The clues that will guide them from one shard to the next. A map to lead them across the continent, and teach them all you wish you’d known.
Perhaps, armed with the knowledge, they might stand a chance at healing the wounds that put into motion The Shattering, and convince the Gods to put an end to this cycle of destruction, once and for all. ”
“But who?”
The Seer smiled faintly.
“Someone who will rewrite the future. The Shardseeker.”
Etara felt her brows draw together in determination.
Roan’s words echoed in her mind. We will rebuild the world.
We won’t, she thought. But someone will.