by Kyra Gregory
In a moment when she had expected it all to be better, she found him unable to cling to it any longer. Lips parted enough to take in short breaths, sobs almost stifled in the back of his throat, she knew the tears burning his eyes were from far more than just the violent retching he succumbed to in this stage of his recovery.
All the time she’d known him, Thane bore their troubles like the trained man he was. Always the first in the room, he was there, asking to be told of their troubles, desperate to make things right. She couldn’t help but wonder how often he had been afforded the same courtesy.
“What’s the matter?” she asked. Soft, delicate and sympathetic, she prepared herself to listen, to shoulder the weight of whatever it was that placed such a heavy weight upon his shoulders.
And Thane, normally beyond capable of holding himself together, looked as though he was ready to let it go. He tried a smile but he didn’t have it in him to maintain it anymore, fading quickly. “I’m dying,” he said.
As a child, Malia’s heart would fill with fear as she stared at the waters beneath the ship. Diving into it, the sensation of ice cold water enveloping her and swallowing her whole, rushing down her spine, took her breath away. Thane’s confession filled her with the exact same sensation.
She mustered a smile, much like she did whenever she tried to bury the feeling of the cold that ran through her, frantic in her attempt to make sense of the darkened world around her. “We’re all dying,” she whispered.
He smiled—genuinely. “Some of us faster than others,” he whispered. His voice broke, cracking like it had the night he locked them out of his chambers.
“Tell me,” she whispered. The desperation to unburden himself became clear as he fought, struggling between the need to cling to life and the inability to conceal his vulnerability any longer.
“I was too late,” he whispered. “The poison... I left it too long.”
She shook her head in disbelief. This couldn’t be. “You treated yourself,” she said. “You’re getting better.”
He scrunched his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose, clearing the tightness in his throat. “I’ve merely slowed it down,” he said. “It was too late. Much of the damage had been done.”
Her chest paining her, she realised she’d been holding her breath.
“I’ve held it off for a little while longer,” he said. “All I am is treating symptoms.”
“How long?” she asked.
He shrugged a shoulder, “I don’t know,” he said. “Not too long—months maybe, not years.”
“There has to be something we can do,” she whispered. “Something...”
The refusal sat on the tip of his tongue, sucking in a deep breath to speak it, only for it to catch in the back of his throat as he shook his head. He’d thought it all through. He’d done everything he could. He wouldn’t be this way if...
Gradually hunching over, winded by unleashing his confession—of having it spoken into reality—he crumbled. She couldn’t bear to look at him as the tears fell from his sealed eyes, the sight enough to cause her to do the same. So she didn’t look. She drew him into her shoulder, holding him close. Kissing the top of his head, she held her breath, bit back her own tears and acted as the anchor that tied him to the living world.
If he needed to confront what little life he had ahead of him, of having to come down from the elation of having survived, forced to face the brutality of his demise, she would let him—but she would be there. She would sit beside him, clinging to him, ready for the moment the wave of emotion passed and he would have to return to confronting everyday life, knowing what lay in his near future.
Burying his mouth into the crook of her arm, stifling the sound of his sobs, he let himself have this. He let himself cave, bow to the strength of emotions he had concealed and swallowed, spirited away in front of those he loved.
He didn’t overstay within her embrace, withdrawing before he’d fully composed himself. Handing him the handkerchief she’d retrieved from beside him, scrunched within the palm of her hand, he offered her a short, grateful smile, unable to look her in the eye. “Does anyone else know?” she asked.
He shook his head quickly. “No,” he said, adamant, fighting the raspiness of his voice, “and they won’t—you can’t tell.”
She pursed her lips together, forcing herself to take a moment. She didn’t want to argue with him, not when it was more likely to make him feel worse. But she couldn’t just allow him to face it by himself. “We only want to help,” she whispered.
“Treating me like an invalid won’t help,” he said, glaring her way.
She bit into her bottom lip, nodding slightly. She couldn’t say she blamed him. Nobody who loved him as much as they did could help doting on him, checking to make sure he was all right, but that all seemed conducive to reminding him of what loomed. He, just as much as her, would prefer to revel in the distraction. “Then what do you want?”
His next breath caused him to shudder. “I want to go on as though nothing’s happened,” he said, “but I know I can’t.”
Furrowing her brow, she shook her head. While she wasn’t one for secrecy, if he wanted it that way, he could have it. “Nobody will think to stop you if they don’t know.”
He rose to his feet, clearing his throat to hide the groan of effort. “I need to leave,” he said.
“Leave?” she asked. “Why?”
He wanted to look for an excuse. She saw it on his face. This place had been his home his entire life—even more so now than ever before—and he was scrambling for reasons to leave it behind. “I can’t put Neyva through this again,” he said. “It... She’s been through enough.”
On that, they could both agree. But Neyva was a grown woman. She could make that decision for herself—and she would, if she felt that way.
“It’s all been too much,” he said. “She’s exhausted.”
She was sick. It was the reason Malia was there instead of her. But she couldn’t tell him the cause—she wasn’t in a position to say. “You cannot just leave,” she said. “Leaving her and robbing her of the choice will devastate her far more than putting her through this again.” She shot to her feet, quite ready to fight him on the subject when he rolled his eyes and looked away. “Is that why you’re out here?” she asked. “Putting distance between you and her?”
He licked his lips, glancing towards the writing table, “I thought it would be a start,” he said.
Advancing towards him, she folded her arms over her chest and inched into his line of sight. “I’ll keep your secret,” she said, “but I won’t let you walk away from this family.”
He couldn’t bring himself to look at her, likely still focused on the contents of his writing desk—letters of goodbye.
She grabbed his chin, allowing the tips of her fingers to sink into his jaw. “You are a part of this family,” she said, “and, come what may, you will deal with it here, amongst those that love you.” He dropped his gaze and she squeezed tighter, jolting him to look at her. “Have I made myself clear?” she asked.
Thane broke into a smile. He couldn’t deny the severity in her eyes, the sternness with which she spoke. He’d be a fool to even try.
A rumble in the distance broke through their silence and they both cast a glance in the direction of the distant Capital walls. “That’s why I’m here,” she said. “I came to tell you they’re returning.”
She pulled away, retrieving her handkerchief from the stone bench and tossing it towards him. “I’ll go on ahead,” she declared. “Clean yourself up and then join us. Riffin will want to see you.”
Just about to leave, she peeked over her shoulder.
He’d stopped, breathing deeply, staring at the sky above him as he did his utmost to reel in everything he had confessed.
Tempted as she might’ve been to turn her back on him, to assume she’d gotten through to him, she lingered a moment longer. Much like him, it would take a lot longer to bottle up all t
he feelings that came with his confession.
“Thane,” she said. Surprised to see her still standing there, he looked and waited for her to speak. He was enough to make her weak. She wanted to comfort him the same way she had earlier, with a strong embrace and a level head. But being stern was the only way one could get through to someone like him, and what she needed to be for him mattered far more than what she needed for herself. “Those letters you wrote—whatever is in them—I want them gone,” she said. “Whatever you have to say to us, you can tell us yourself when you’re ready.”
Clear, concise, there wasn’t any mistaking her words for a request. It was an order. Sucking in a deep breath, knowing what it all meant, he pursed his lips together and nodded.
Turning her back on him, finally, and making her way through the gardens to the main square, she arrived in time to watch Deros exit his carriage.
Neyva only just stepped out of the palace, cautious as she made her way down the steps to greet her father.
She understood why Thane grew worried. She had changed over the last few weeks—and Thane misconstrued that for the weeks having changed her.
Her long hair remained loose as it cascaded over her shoulders, strands drawn away from her face only by a few braids in the back. She spent a lot of time lying in bed, close to Thane, and she chose to do her hair in a way that kept her the most comfortable when she did so.
With a figure that appeared to be nearly as slender as ever, her loose silver belt didn’t quite cinch in at the waist the same way it normally did. Instead, she allowed her skirt to barely skim her. It wasn’t hard to imagine why Thane blamed himself for the changes in her, and it wasn’t hard to imagine why Neyva had never explained them.
Thane didn’t appear to be too far behind, returning with his usual smile on his features as he watched Kara and Jared unite.
When Riffin’s carriage arrived and when the gates to the Capital were firmly sealed shut, he leapt out and rushed towards her. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he spun them around, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth.
He brought her delight, a playful giggle she wouldn’t have thought was possible after all she had heard from Thane. It lingered in the back of her mind still but Riffin served as a distraction that was far greater than their struggles. Within his arms again, there was no forgetting everything they had been through, but there was no denying that they had gone through it all together.
Together. Everyone together.
It didn’t take long for Riffin to search for him. One glance over her shoulder, he saw him making his way closer to greet them. He dropped his gaze to meet hers and all she needed to do was smile.
Closing the distance between them with long strides, Riffin just about almost tackled Thane as he threw his arms around him, going as far as to lift him inches off the ground.
Thane chuckled but his groans into his shoulder were unmistakable as he clapped his hands onto Riffin’s back.
“Careful,” Malia and Neyva said, grimacing.
Riffin lowered him, an apologetic smile cutting through his grin of absolute relief. “I’m sorry,” he said.
Thane shook his head, reaching out for another embrace, “I’m not,” he said.
Riffin propped his chin on his shoulder, breathing out a heavy sigh. “I’m so glad you’re all right,” he whispered.
As though through a blow to the heart, Malia’s smile dropped. Thane held onto him tighter and she could understand why—he couldn’t bear to be looked in the eye.
As the Queen stepped out of her carriage, Riffin returned to her side. “Are the children awake?” he asked.
She smiled, “And eager to see you,” she replied. She watched her mother and father reunite, clinging to one another. Her father seemed to have been wounded, grimacing against his wife’s embrace, his answer gaining a glare. “Go on ahead,” she said, squeezing Riffin’s hand.
The Queen offered Kara a short greeting, then Neyva, before arriving to Malia. “Has everything been well?” she asked her, holding her at arms length. “I hadn’t meant for so many of us to be away at once. It must’ve put a great deal of pressure on you.”
She couldn’t help but smile, bowing her head, “None compared to the moment I stood in your shoes,” she said.
The Queen bowed her head. Her smile quivered on her lips somewhat, unusual for her. “I hope the next time I leave you it will be with a lot less conflict,” she said.
She hoped she was right. She hoped it would be true. Even then, she knew what it all entailed. They would work their way through it, same way they always did—together.
The Queen moved to Thane next, drawing him into an embrace that was a great deal gentler than her son’s, but no less loving. Almost as though she could see the traces of anguish on his face from minutes of sobbing in the gardens, she swiped her thumbs carefully back and forth over his cheeks.
Malia held her breath watching as she looked into his eyes. She had the ability to see into the depths of a person’s soul and wouldn’t put it past her to be able to read him like a book. He’d undoubtedly make excuses for his state, rightly stating it would take some time to fully recover.
Deros made his way towards him next, a wide smile growing on his lips. Thane had still been bedridden when he’d left for Ludorum with word of his survival, as well as with the name of the woman who had threatened his life. “I didn’t expect to see you on your feet so soon,” he remarked.
Neither did he, no doubt. It was ill-advised and he knew it. While he’d been able to stand, even walk around unattended, hours awake and on his feet had caused him to begin to waver. Swaying ever so slightly, winded by one greeting after another, he did his best to hide it.
“He said the fresh air would do him some good,” Malia said, approaching. “I told him he could, so long as he didn’t overdo it.”
A glance in her direction from beneath his lashes spoke of his gratitude. Slowly, he nodded in agreement, smiling, “She’s right,” he said. “I should sit down.”
Deros nodded curtly, drawing a hand to the small of his back as he led him towards the steps. “Get some rest,” he said. “We’ll gather this evening and fill you in.”
When Thane parted, Deros returned to her. Eager to take a rest from all of their journeys, they were left alone, except for the guards unpacking the carriages. “I’m sorry to have left you to deal with all this,” he said.
Malia shrugged a shoulder, shaking her head. None of them needed to apologise to her. She could handle herself and she could handle their affairs in their absence. While they certainly favoured a loving marriage, they likely wouldn’t have allowed theirs if she hadn’t been capable. “Everyone has pulled their weight in times of trouble,” she whispered. “I don’t see why I should be the exception.”
A faint smile flickered onto his lips. He knew what she meant, but felt no less apologetic about it.
“I mean it,” she said. “The Queen returned to the kingdom that would have had her executed. Riffin left to join her. Gyles left the care of Azura to Lukas to stand by the Queen’s side in negotiations. My father returned to battle and you returned to doing what needed to be done.”
Deros hung his head. “I know Riffin might not always understand it,” he said. “I know you might not either. But, it’s true—some offences are far greater than others. Poisoning our loved ones—that is an offence greater than most.”
No, it wasn’t understandable. When the people who paid an assassin to kill her and her children in their nursery still walked amongst the rest of their people, she couldn’t quite stomach the lack of justice. But she knew what he meant—Riffin did too. Some battles were worth fighting. Some battles were worth staining their hands with blood. Some battles were only that—battles. No war would come from a woman who would be amongst the dead on the streets of Ludorum—but they would have had their vengeance.
Vengeance would always come, she told herself. It was all just a matter of biding their time.
&nb
sp; But vengeance, whenever it came, wouldn’t heal them. It wouldn’t put an end to their pain. All it did was balance the scales.
Chapter 23
ABOUT AS WELL-RESTED as he could manage, Riffin sucked in a deep breath as he made his way into the throne room. Sat back in her seat, more comfortable than she had been in the last few weeks, his mother turned her attention to him when he marched in. “Anymore word from Ludorum?” he asked.
“No word from our spies,” she said. “Niles has written to say that most order has been restored. Nothing more than a little aggravation from those whose families have been marked as traitors.”
He seated himself across from her, throwing one leg over the other. “Then on the matter of traitors,” he said, “what are we to do about ours?”
She raised a delicate brow, returning her attention to the ledger in her hands. “You have names?” she asked.
“Some,” he said, nodding. “Jared got them from Manus Baran.”
Pursing her lips together, she nodded. The silence between them was enough to suffocate him, waiting with baited breath for a response.
With the long, drawn out silence sinking in, she lifted her gaze once again, meeting his. “I shall leave that to you,” she said, hands clasped together in her lap.
He raised his brow at her, glancing elsewhere, beckoning her for the punch line to her obvious joke. When none came, his mouth fell open and he leaned forward. “That is not how this is done,” he said. “You’re my Queen and—”
“And you are my Heir,” she retorted, “and the way you conducted yourself in Ludorum proved once again what I already knew—that you are certainly capable of handling matters when necessary.”
