36
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One simple, hardly spoken word from Raegan was all that was needed to clear the entire throne room of spectators. Pixies flooded from that place as if it had been set on fire, and I remained amongst Raegan’s friends, not completely convinced I should have.
There was nothing to say. Nothing to do.
Any attempt at either from any of us was immediately shut down by the Prince, his eyes unblinking and glossy as he stared at his father.
Even if he had allowed us to speak or comfort him in some sort of way, there was no telling what, exactly, we were supposed to do.
I hadn’t truly figured out how Raegan even felt about his father.
Considering he murdered his mother and stole him away to a place that suffocated him day-in and day-out, it was hard to imagine that he held any care in his heart for King Ronan.
Then again, he was his father, and they had spent the better part of a century together.
There was also the problem that he was Raegan.
When he finally spoke, it shattered the tension in the air and all four of us gasped for full lungs.
“Killian, fetch the Druid.”
Killian disappeared, shooting out of the throne room with a sense of relief to be gone that I desired.
I thought about going with him, especially because I couldn’t tell if Raegan wanted me there amongst it all.
But with the type of mood he had suddenly tumbled into, I assumed if he wanted me gone he would have made it so.
“Shea, get some more ceadan and post outside of this door. Not a single soul comes in here, got it?”
She was gone just as quickly.
Niamh and I just stared at one another, wordlessly communicating the awkwardness that echoed through the room as loud as a war drum.
“Niamh, fetch the head of castle staff. What’s her name again?”
“Fionnuala?” she squeaked.
“Yes. Go now.”
She shot me an apologetic look before fleeing, likely before Raegan could change his mind.
“Olivia —”
Please please please please—
“— come here, please.”
I wanted to grunt, but held it back with all of my might.
Instead, I crept forward, one toe flexing at a time in case Raegan’s plans for my approach was to use me as some sort of punching bag.
When I paused across from him, his very deceased father between us, I prepared myself for whatever was about to come my way.
But I wasn’t anywhere near prepared. Not when he looked up and all I saw was agony. He looked like nothing more than a young boy, distraught and confused and broken beyond repair with every blink of his darkening eyes.
It brought me down to my knees, where I rested my weight and watched him carefully, trying my best not to look down at the King between us.
“You must think me a fool.”
My mouth opened, but no words came out. There was nothing to say. So I shut it again.
“I should not mourn him, right?”
His voice. Oh, his voice. It wasn’t Raegan, not really. It was some younger version of him, some piece that never quite recovered from what had happened to his family, to what had been forced upon him. The Prince of not one kingdom but two, yet desired neither.
“Why not?” I finally asked, my own voice foreign to my ears.
“He was a phenomenal king. Truly, he was born to it. Meant for it. There was never any question about that.”
I stared at Raegan as he looked down at his father. Whatever was happening in Raegan’s mind, I would let it play out. Maybe that was why he called me forward, just so that there were a pair of ears that could listen to it.
“He was an okay father, too.” Raegan paused only to push some of his hair behind his ears, the very thing that suggested otherwise. “I think he tried his best.”
The only thing I had in my tool-belt of helpfulness was experience. I had not lost a parent or a sibling, but I had lost the next best thing – a best friend. So I said what I wished everyone had said to me.
“You’re allowed to feel all of it, Raegan.”
His eyes snapped up to mine. Bright and dark, everything he had ever been all wrapped up in that one look. “I’m angry.”
“You’re allowed to be–”
“At him.” He glared down at the King. “At his death.”
I tried my best to hide the puzzlement on my face, instead pretending to itch my eyebrow.
In a way, I understood. I was angry at Charlotte, too.
Once the pain and the anguish faded, I was angry at her for leaving me.
For making me walk this earth without her at my side.
It’s a selfish emotion, one that you can’t truly understand and one that you feel nothing but guilt for admitting.
So I never admitted it, not out loud, not like how Raegan was now.
“He’s damned all of Saoghal. You know what this means, don’t you?”
I was about to say that I did when the throne room doors burst open once more and Killian strode through them, followed by a pixie that looked more their age than any other I had seen.
In every way but literally he looked like the bark of a tree. Such texture spread over every inch of revealed flesh, even his mangled, brown hair was starting to thin, his eyes cloudy and no longer capable of holding a true colour.
When Killian shot me a questioning look I finally rose, taking a large step back away from the King and Raegan, before retreating to Killian’s side and pressing close to him.
“So the rumours are true,” the stranger said.
“It’s already out there?” Raegan frowned, all evidence of vulnerability and sorrow wiped from his face as he rose to his feet. “That’s not good.”
“We will need to perform the rites. And soon, if it is spreading at the rate it is.”
“Tomorrow, Druid.” Raegan straightened, clearing his throat once before continuing. “We shall have rites of the dead performed tomorrow at first light. Proceeding the celebration, let us perform the throne rites.”
“Are you sure, Your–”
“Yes.”
The Druid nodded to Raegan, attempting a bow but only making it halfway before his back cracked and he returned upright. “Very well.”
~
Killian walked with me through the town, neither one of us saying much, just floating from place to place, following the path of fireflies and listening to the world go quiet as the sun dipped down beyond the horizon.
While the pixies had been buzzing with the news of their beloved King dying, the streets were now ghostly bare as most retreated to their homes — in the trees, along the streets, or in the burrows — for their various routines of mourning and grief.
Both Killian and I had wanted to stay with Raegan. While I hadn’t been sure before, after seeing his face and listening to his hollow words, I knew he needed us more than ever. But the Prince threw us out of the throne room, threatening Killian with the dungeon when he refused to leave.
So all we could do was wander. We walked past the small cafe that we had sat on that first day, where everything had been magical and magnificent, where the world had felt so large and us so small.
Then we made our way down towards the barn, creeping through the blackened woods until we made it to the clearing and saw creatures both familiar and unfamiliar to me.
The absence of Gaoth was as obvious as ever as we moved into the barn, Killian stopping at the fourth stall and looking into it as if his faithful caraid was in there. I said nothing, only stepped to his side and took his hand in mine, squeezing it ever so slightly.
Both Killian and Raegan’s grief had become my own.
Stronger than just a bystander or a witness's grief, I felt it within myself as if it was someone I loved that had died. Which was when I finally admitted to myself that these pixies, these friends that I had made, had wormed their way into my rotten heart. In a way, I was somewhat relieved at the thought of the impending memory wipe — at least it wouldn’t hurt when I was torn from them.
But that would always be the thing about loving people, wouldn’t it? Was it better to have never known them, to never have loved them, and not feel the loss? Or was their friendship worth all of the pain that would come?
That was when I let out a deep breath and leant against Killian, my head on his shoulder, hoping I could commit this feeling to memory.
Hoping I could remember the curve of his neck, the wild grin on his face at all times, the gleam to his eyes that was childish in every way but pure and innocent.
None of it would matter, in the end, but perhaps I could convince my own flesh to remember the feeling.
In my darkest of hours, perhaps my body would call that feeling forth, even when I didn’t remember where it had come from.
~
We were almost back to the castle when Killian said the first thing in hours.
“It doesn’t make sense.”
There were so many things that he could have been referring to, so I opted to wait for him to explain before I bothered asking.
“How would the Rachainn have known he would be under-guarded?”
I was afraid I knew the answer to that, already. So I chose not to respond, again.
He paused, turning to face me. “You don’t think…”
Yes, I do.
He scanned my face for any inclination to what I was thinking, but came up short and frowned. “It cannot be.”
I blinked an answer back to him. He sighed.
“We have a traitor in our midst.”