Chapter 12
Chapter
Twelve
LYRIANA
I sat beneath the full moon in an open clearing of the woods. The branches of silver moontrees reached for each other, as if they were holding hands. The full effect was a shimmering canopy above an empty stage.
I leaned back on my couch, getting comfortable, feeling the grass tickle my feet. Meera sat beside me, staring ahead.
“The show’s about to begin,” she said quietly. “Pay attention.”
“Oh.” I glanced around the forest. There were no other seats. No other indications that we were here for a performance. I shook my head, confused. “What are we watching?”
Meera rolled her eyes. “Come on, Lyr. It was your idea.”
“It was?” I asked. “I don’t remember.” Small lights twinkled within the leaves and branches. The kind we used for decoration at solstice. The kind that had sparkled the night Rhyan first kissed me.
Suddenly, gleaming blue lights flitted across the sky as ashvan ran on their hourly patrol.
I watched their progress, following them as they circled above. The clock tower hadn’t rung yet. “It’s too early to call the hour,” I said.
Meera shrugged. “It’s closer to the end than you think.”
“What?”
A beautiful mage wearing red robes stepped onto the stage, her long hair falling in thick waves down her back, the color a bright, fiery red. She smiled at the audience, then held her hands above her head in a grand gesture to signal the start of the show.
Meera clapped, then stilled, watching in silence.
A drum began to beat in the distance, and I wondered if the mage might dance.
It had been so long since I’d seen a dance performance.
Since I’d been in one. But the mage fell to her knees.
For a moment she looked up at us, as if startled to see us there, then she threw her face into her hands, and began to sob.
“Lyr,” Morgana snapped. She took a seat at the edge of the couch beside Meera. “Gods. Move over.”
“Morgs?” I frowned, looking at the armrest my hand was already leaning on. I was pressed against the edge. Taking up as little space as I could. There was nowhere else for me to go.
“You need to make more room,” Morgana said, scooching back onto the couch. She fluffed out the skirts of her orange gown, then sat up straight, her body regal.
The mage performing continued to cry, her sobs wracking through her body. The sound began to echo through the forest, until it seemed as if her cries were coming from every direction.
“It’s still not enough room,” Morgana said. “Move! ”
“Morgs,” Meera chided, “she’s trying.”
“Myself to Moriel. Move faster. Father’s here.”
“But father’s—” My eyes widened, and there he was. Walking toward Morgana. He looked younger than when I’d last seen him. The grays in his hair were gone. His face was smooth, missing every line and wrinkle he’d earned over his years.
But even more surprising was that as he walked toward us, I saw something I’d never seen before.
He could walk without a limp. He took his steps with ease, holding his head high with the Laurel of the Arkasva on his head.
The leaves were a bright gleaming gold, shining as if in the sun, and glowing against the darkness of his hair.
The crying from the stage grew louder, drowning out any other sounds of the forest. The breeze. The chirping of birds. The distant whinnies of ashvan in the sky.
“Father?” I asked, tears filling my eyes. Nearly three months had passed since he’d died. Since I’d seen him. Since he’d been murdered. Since everything else had happened.
But he wasn’t looking at me. He was watching the show. Staring intently at the red-headed mage whose entire performance seemed to be nothing more than her crying and wailing. He had no seat on the couch with us, so he perched on the armrest.
“Father?” I asked again. “Father!”
“Shhh,” Morgana hissed. “Gods, Lyr. Pay attention.”
“I know this show,” he said, his eyes on the mage. “Your mother once told me about it.” He removed his laurel, and passed it to Meera. “Here. I don’t need this anymore.”
Meera considered the laurel in her hands, then shrugged and tossed it to the forest floor. “None of us do.”
I sat forward, my heart hurting as I tried to catch my father’s eyes.
I couldn’t understand why he didn’t have a full seat on the couch.
Or why Morgana hadn’t made any space for him at all.
Why was she forcing him to perch? Why wouldn’t she move?
Why wasn’t there enough room for him? Why were there no other seats?
Morgana stood, and walked away. “I know how it ends.”
“I’ve seen it, too,” Meera said. She retrieved the laurel and dropped it into my lap. For a second the leaves shifted, reforming themselves into the shape of a crown, one meant for a queen. Then they resumed their laurel shape once more.
My father looked at me finally, his eyes soft and wet.
“Me bat,” he said. “You’ve been through so much these last few months. You’ve been so strong.”
I started to cry, no longer able to speak. I nodded.
His eyes returned to the stage as he stood up and clapped, shouting what a good performance it had been. But the mage was still sobbing. The show wasn’t over yet. He turned away from the couch, away from me.
“Wait,” I said, my arms extended for a hug.
“Don’t go.” He turned and shook his head.
“I’m sorry. I can’t stay long. I’m on the other side now.
It’s not …” He frowned, and then he flickered.
His body vanished and reappeared, like he couldn’t hold onto physical form any longer.
“It’s not allowed anymore,” my father said with a sigh.
“I had to fight just for this visit. Just for this one show.”
His eyes were distant, and my arms fell helplessly to my sides.
“I thought he would be here though,” my father continued. “I thought I would give him my blessing for you. But he isn’t here tonight. He hasn’t come.”
“Who hasn’t come?” I asked.
“Rhyan.”
“W-What?” I stammered.
“You swore, Lyr.” Suddenly, Rhyan’s voice filled the forest. I spun on my heels, my eyes wild and desperate as they searched for him, but I couldn’t find him.
Not anywhere. There was no one else. Not even my father, not even the stage and its performer remained. It was just me, alone with the trees.
“You swore you’d make the pain go away,” Rhyan said, his voice echoing. “You swore no one else would hurt me. You lied.” My eyes shot open, my hand clutching my chest.
I was in bed. In a basement. Slowly, I remembered that we were at Sean’s house.
I glanced anxiously around the room. Every corner was dark, like night had fallen.
By the Gods—no. My heart pounded at the thought of losing that many hours.
Of having been asleep for so long. For having missed too much.
For letting too much happen without me. My body felt sore—in the way it did at times when I’d slept too long. When I’d spend too much time in bed.
Gods—please no. There were no windows in the basement, nor any kind of clock or timekeeper—so I couldn’t be sure. The only source of light came from a few candles on a small table near the bed.
I swallowed roughly, feeling dehydrated, but not as sick as I’d been before. Before I’d … fainted? No. No.
I had a fever. An infection. I’d been forced to sleep. Forced to lose consciousness, forced to lose out on precious time.
Time I didn’t have.
By Auriel.
A soft blanket covered my body, and I was already too hot beneath it. My boots and armor had been removed and carefully laid across a small table against the wall. My weapons were there, too. Even Asherah’s chest plate.
And next to it all, sitting by itself, was the black leather scabbard Rhyan had gotten me. The one with my stave in it. Asherah’s stave. My nostrils flared. That scabbard! That scabbard had been a gift!
I pushed back the blankets, and rushed to the small table, retrieving it.
Then, sitting back on the bed, my fingers ran over the smooth leather casing, and traced the golden thread that had been stitched into the image of a sun.
Below that were silver threads, stitched into the shape of gryphon wings.
The sigil of Ka Hart. Rhyan’s sigil.
I swallowed roughly, my throat dry and hugged the scabbard to my chest, careful as I shifted my injured arm.
There was a fresh set of bandages, clean and white.
There was no sign of bleeding. My skin was no longer hot and swollen.
The red streaks were gone. And I no longer had a fever.
The infection was gone. Miraculously, it no longer hurt.
A door opened and closed at the top of the stairs, briefly allowing in some golden light.
Auriel appeared, his eyes meeting mine instantly.
“Lyriana?” Auriel asked. “Thank the realms.” He started down the stairs, his feet moving quickly into a slow jog.
“You look so much better,” he sounded relieved. “How are you feeling?”
I sat up straighter. “How am I feeling? How am I feeling!” I yelled. I gestured at the bed, at the dark basement walls. “You bastard! You Godsdamned bastard!”
“I’m a bastard?” he asked, throwing his hands up. “The hell did I do to you now?” he snapped. “You’ve been awake for what? A minute?” Auriel shook his head. “Believe me, I haven’t had nearly enough time to properly offend you.” His eyes narrowed. “Though if you wish, I can certainly try.”
“You forced me to sleep. You knew I didn’t want to lose consciousness. Lose time!” I yelled. “Gods, Auriel! I fucking told you. I told you I didn’t want to! I pleaded with you.”