Chapter 39 She Lives
She Lives
I would like to tell you a story. It begins, as so many stories do, with a stubborn spirited girl.
Aurora set down her pen. She could not understand how she could pull literal sunlight over a mountain and yet beginning her first column for Eternal Reverie felt like an entirely insurmountable task that was surely taking years from her life.
When Aurora had told Caspian that she wanted to extend an invitation to Farren to visit her at the castle, he had simply scowled in response, which Aurora had taken as somewhat displeased agreement.
Farren had been deeply apologetic about what had happened at the cave, but Aurora hadn’t had any desire to speak about that. It felt like a lifetime ago, and when Farren had arrived at the castle, Aurora had found she held no ill will toward him.
She had wanted to write—she had always wanted to write—and she had wanted a place to do it.
She’d wanted to connect with the people she was protecting, to be a person to them instead of just a role.
And Eternal Reverie had been the best place to do that.
It had been a gift for herself, certainly not for Farren or his family’s business, but he had been grateful all the same.
Now that she actually had to write the thing, though, she was tearing her hair out over how to begin. She crumpled yet another piece of paper and leaned back in her chair, groaning.
“You’re quite captivating when you’re frustrated,” Caspian said, coming up behind her and trailing his fingers down her neck.
“And it’s a good thing, too, given your propensity for bringing it out in me.” Aurora turned to face him.
“Careful,” he said, bending down to her ear, kissing her softly. “That bears a striking resemblance to something I would say.”
“I’m being serious.” Aurora stood from her chair and stepped back from Caspian with great effort. “You’re distracting me. Farren wanted this weeks ago.”
“I could not care less what Farren wants.” He took a step toward her, running his hands up her arms, caressing her collarbones. “Perhaps a distraction is exactly what you need.”
Aurora could feel her resolve wavering, fading away like the mist at dawn. She leaned into his touch, closing her eyes. He could touch her a thousand times in a thousand ways and she would still want more.
“You’re incorrigible,” she said, and Caspian laughed.
“I should hope so.” He kissed her eyes, her cheek, her mouth, and Aurora wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed into him, reveling in the way her body fit perfectly against his, in the way he pulled her closer.
He was here, right in front of her, and Aurora didn’t know how long they would have together, but she would treasure every single moment.
Having Caspian back would not save her from unspeakable loss—that much she was sure of.
There was immense grief waiting for her on the horizon of her life, but after everything that had happened, she believed deep in her soul that the only way to live was to love and that the eventual pain would keep her connected to the people and things she cherished most. And so she would love her family and her animals and her mountain with absolute abandon, because that was the only way she knew how.
Reluctantly, she pulled away from Caspian.
“I need my energy; it is my day to water the phlox.”
It was how they referred to giving their blood to the mountain.
It worked better than Aurora could have hoped, and the phlox were all back to their vibrant pinks after only one month.
She and Caspian traded off, and for now, they only needed to water once a week; even though it was just a few drops of blood, it left them both feeling weak and depleted.
Aurora didn’t understand why it had that effect, but Caspian had said simply that magic has a cost. It was worth it to see the Frost retreating, though, to see her family’s crops healthy and the woods coming back to life.
“You need not expend any energy, my love. I am more than happy to take the lead.” He had a mischievous glint in his eye as he took Aurora’s hand and led her to the bed. A fire ignited deep in her belly, and she lay down, watching him.
“This will not help me get my column written any sooner,” Aurora said, but there was no fight in her voice. She wanted him as much as she always had.
“Once upon a time,” Caspian said, trailing his lips down her throat and onto her sternum, “there was a stubborn girl with magic in her blood who lived beyond the reach of the light.” He kissed her ribs and rested his head on her chest, Aurora’s hands in his hair.
“I decided that spirited was a better term,” Aurora murmured.
“If you are going to write, you ought to write what is true.”
Aurora was about to argue with him, but then he brought his mouth to hers, kissing her with the same reverence he always had, and all thoughts left her mind entirely.
It was that way with him. He made her mind race and her thoughts quiet, a beautiful contradiction that Aurora couldn’t get enough of.
“What happens to the girl?” Aurora asked, pulling away just slightly.
Caspian ran his hand through her hair, down her neck, settling directly over her heart.
“She lives,” he said simply.
The truth of it made her eyes burn with tears, because if there was one thing Aurora was certain of, it was that the greatest wonder of all was not the Sun or the Starmaker or the magic or the mountain. It was life, in all of its imperfect splendor.
Caspian pressed his mouth to hers, and Aurora smiled beneath his kiss.
What an extraordinary thing it was, to live.
* * *
Caspian
She lives, he had said, and Caspian thought they were the two best words he had ever spoken.