Chapter 30 Illusion #2
“We can’t put it off any longer,” Caspian said gently, but something in his tone told Aurora he would not be argued with. “We are fortunate that it hasn’t yet spread beyond the phlox, but it will. It is only a matter of time.”
Aurora said nothing. She couldn’t bring herself to agree with him even though she knew he was right. This was the way their magic worked, and the entire mountain was dependent upon it. She nodded, and they began their walk back to the sleigh.
They didn’t rush, and Aurora could tell that Caspian was appreciating his surroundings, knowing that this would be the last time he ever walked these woods.
He wandered from tree to tree, gazing up at the sky, feeling the bark against his palms and the cold breeze on his skin.
Aurora wanted to look away, to let him have these intimate moments to himself, but she couldn’t bear to.
She was experiencing him the way he was experiencing the woods, committing each detail to memory, the curve of his spine and the angle of his jaw and the way his lips parted slightly when he looked up.
She was jealous of every last second he had on this mountain, and she wanted them all to herself.
Caspian finally made his way out of the woods, past the candy stripe phlox to the sleigh where the snow deer were waiting.
Aurora followed, so focused on him that she didn’t see the broken branch hanging over the flowers.
It caught her across the neck, and Aurora winced, bringing her hand to a long gash on her skin.
Her fingers came away bloody, and she watched as a single drop ran down her palm and hit the earth.
She immediately felt light-headed, and she took a steadying breath.
“Are you okay?” Caspian asked, moving to her aid. He reached beneath his cloak and pulled out a handkerchief, first cleaning the blood from her hand, then her neck.
“I am,” Aurora said, looking up at the trees and breathing deeply until she finally felt steady on her feet. Caspian offered her his arm, and she took it, slowly making her way back to the sleigh. Once they were both seated, he ran the cloth over her neck once more, not seeming to mind the blood.
“I was so distracted by your beauty that I walked straight into a branch,” Aurora said.
Caspian laughed at that, taking her hand in his as the snow deer pulled them to the glacier to let go of the light. Aurora looked back to the woods once more, and though they were getting farther away, she could have sworn a single flower turned from gray to pink.
“You think I’m beautiful?” Caspian asked, the corner of his mouth tugging upward, and she turned back to him.
“I do,” Aurora said, “though I don’t believe it is an opinion, but rather a fact.”
“If that is true, it is certainly one I have never heard before.”
Aurora stared at him, shocked. “How is that possible?”
Caspian was quiet for a moment, as if he was truly pondering the question. “I suppose because it has been quite a while since I’ve spent time with anyone who would feel comfortable saying such a thing to me.”
“Then let me tell you again how beautiful you are.”
Caspian shook his head, giving Aurora a look that said she was utterly ridiculous, but she could see his cheeks going slightly pink, and she realized that he was embarrassed.
She was wholly unprepared for the way it made her eyes burn with the threat of tears, for the painful lump that formed in her throat.
Her stoic, indomitable Starmaker was embarrassed.
When the snow deer came to a stop at the glacier, Aurora practically threw herself out of the sleigh, not wanting Caspian to see how strongly she was reacting. She wondered if he could feel it or if he was now too weak to sense the magic in her at all.
The thought made her unbearably sad.
“You wait here,” Aurora said. “I can let go of the light.”
“No.” Caspian stood and joined her. “I want to do it.”
Aurora nodded, and they walked to the lamppost in silence.
Caspian stepped up and opened the glass door, and for several breaths, he just looked at it.
Then he slowly raised his arm, unhooked the light, and sent it sailing back up the mountain and between the peaks until nothing but darkness remained.
When they got back to the castle, they invited the entire staff to dine with them, and when they retired to his room for the evening, they once again asked Constance to rest elsewhere. Neither of them slept; they talked and they kissed; they touched and they held each other. They even laughed.
But as time so often did, it moved too quickly, and soon it was morning again. The mountain needed a body, and the village needed a Starmaker whose magic was complete.
Caspian’s arms were wrapped tightly around her, and her legs were tangled with his as he kissed her forehead.
His breath tickled her skin, and Aurora could almost convince herself that it was a normal morning, that they would come back here that night after they had pulled the light for the day. But it was just an illusion.
Caspian let her go, moving farther and farther away as he slid out of bed—
too far—
and it was the coldest Aurora had ever felt.
* * *
Caspian
Caspian had been ready to die. He had been preparing for it for many years, and he had accepted it. He had welcomed it. Throughout all his preparations, he had always been certain of one thing: he would die alone. He was certain because he had made the decision long ago.
Then Aurora had shown up and decimated his meticulously laid plans.
Caspian had always known he would outlive every person he ever cared for, but in a twisted turn of fate, he had fallen in love at the end of his life, and now he would be the one to say goodbye first.
He was not ready for that.
He quietly made his way to his childhood bedroom and picked up the journal he had abandoned years ago. He turned to the first blank page and began to write. At first, he didn’t know what to say, but then the words came furiously, and he tried to keep up as best he could.
He wrote to her and for her and because of her, knowing she would find it. And when he finally laid down his pen, a single tear rolled down his cheek and onto the last page, smearing the ink.
God, he hated to leave her.