by Ann Aguirre
Nothing she’d known before.
There was no question of what she should do, and it was slightly troubling that he’d realized she could return to Ash Valley before it occurred to her. With the Golgoth on the move and her family frightened half to death, she should already be making plans.
We knew it wasn’t forever.
I always intended to go.
Yet her throat ached and her eyes burned with a need for tears that she rarely felt. Sheyla didn’t cry even when she was sad; she swallowed it and pushed on. Only rage ever drove her to that point, a fact that often confused people who were arguing with her. They never realized that if tears spilled out, she was half a breath from knocking someone through a wall.
Today, it was different, a yearning she couldn’t name commingled with the golden glow of Alastor’s happiness. Down to the soles of her feet, she could feel it as if he was radiating the emotion beyond any reasonable degree. His feelings spilled over her in a sensory bouquet, palpable as a purr against a lover’s skin. Then there came an irresistible tug that propelled her out of bed, like someone had tied silver skeins to her ankles. For a few moments, she resisted, and the impulse became compulsion. Which led directly to him and it didn’t ease until her arms went around him and she rested her head against his back.
“I missed you too,” he said, and she had no doubt it was true.
“It looks good.” In truth, it was the same food, recycled, and she cared only for it as long as it filled her stomach.
I have to leave tomorrow. Right?
That awful certainty resonated until she couldn’t think of anything else. She scraped her plate in silence while Alastor regarded her with knowing eyes. On some level, he probably sensed her conflict, the silent struggle between the responsible choice and the selfish one. For the latter, she would stay with him, no regard for clan or family.
The flat was so quiet as they washed up. Odd to work beside a prince with such mundane chores. When the last cup was dried and put away, he set his hands on her shoulders and made her face him.
“Have you decided, shalai?”
No. Yes. Sheyla shrugged, unable to articulate her level of conflict. Better to let the issue simmer a little longer and see what truth boiled out.
“Do you ever plan to tell me what that means?”
“That moment is now. Come along, let’s trade stories once more.” For the last time, his sad eyes said, but somehow he was still smiling.
She hated that he could, a little, when her insides felt like a lava lake, endlessly boiling. Even so, following him was easy. His hand wrapped around hers like a promise, and as they settled on the sofa together, he hit the remote to play something soft as a counterpoint to whatever words he had left to give.
“You were saying?” she prompted, past the knot in her throat.
“Shalai is the Golgoth word for a flower that grows in the shade, a pretty purple darling with a heart of gold. I think it’s called heart’s ease or heart’s delight elsewhere.”
Almost instantly she identified the flora in question, not from botany but from herbalism and natural medicine courses. Sheyla could easily picture the delicate bloom in the illustrated guide she’d studied. “It’s used to treat skin irritations and respiratory ailments,” she said.
His expression… how could she ever tire of eliciting that reaction, this precise amalgam of astonishment and delight. “Indeed. And how romantic.”
“I wasn’t trying to be,” she mumbled.
“Trust me, I’m aware. It’s also an endearment, as I suspect you’ve surmised. Reserved for the person with whom you feel most yourself, the most at home.”
Oh.
Her breath went, and the tears from before almost got away. Nobody had ever claimed that about her, and she hadn’t even known she would like hearing it until this moment. Sheyla blinked two or three times, then a single tear slid down.
“So, I am—”
“My heart’s ease, my heart’s delight. Yes. You are my lodestar, lady. No matter how long the day is, when I see your face at its end, it gives me the strength to face another and then one more. No matter where, in a flat, hospital, or tent, with you, I am home.”
It felt as if he was curling his fingers around her heart, and that if he didn’t proceed with care, that she might die. She scrubbed at her eyes furiously, utterly unable to respond.
“I thought you said you wouldn’t hold me when I needed to go,” she finally managed.
Deliberately he opened his hands but everything was in his eyes, in the words he’d spoken. “I’m not,” he said. “Even if you leave in the morning, this truth will stand. You can remember fondly or with bitterness. Or both.”
“I don’t want to remember you.” She closed her eyes and turned her face away, knowing he might misunderstand.
Petal-soft, his lips whispered over her eyelids, not taking her tears, but tasting them. Then he kissed her mouth in a salute strangely formal and chaste. She should have known he would sense how she felt, proven by his next words.
“I wish you could stay too. But I know too well, in this life, we aren’t always free to do as we wish. You’re needed in Ash Valley and your family wants you safe, away from the front lines.” He kissed her forehead then. “You’ve done enough. Go in good grace.”
“Easy for you to say.” Steadier now, she leaned into him again and he welcomed her with a warmth that would be impossible to forget. This genuine sweetness… where did it come from? There were glimmers of it in Rowena, but most of the Golgoth soldiers were devoid of it, or it was so well-buried that it would take a mining days to excavate.
“That wasn’t the story I meant to tell you, by the way.”
She didn’t need to say it was a declaration, for they both knew it had been. And it would be cowardly of her to move on without giving him some indication how precious he had become. Neither of them was free to choose—familial expectations on her end and political obligations for him—but it was impossible to stop your heart, once it went. Hers was a bird, circling him.
It’s not a mate bond. Not yet.
She’d heard enough of the stories to discern that it was forming. The tug from earlier could be nothing else. So leaving was the best solution on a lot of levels; she tried to suppress the anguish that crashed over her like an angry ocean at the mere prospect. Saying good-bye might make her physically ill.
“Stop thinking about it,” he said gently. “As you said earlier, we have tonight. We’ll talk and kiss, love and cuddle, sleep in the same bed, and in the morning, we’ll have breakfast together. And then…”
And then sounded endless. Funny how she’d shifted her thoughts after taking him to bed, but if he could bear it, so could she. With effort, Sheyla shut away all thoughts of tomorrow. “Very well. I’m fairly sure you promised me a story.”
Alastor drew her into his arms fully, so that Sheyla rested against his chest. He could feel her heart beating beneath his hands. She smelled of sex and him, dazzling his senses until it was hard to think.
“This isn’t a sad story, so you’ll be able to spill one of your sorrows later, if you like.”
“We’ll see. Go on already.” A patient audience she was not.
“I was around nine or so, doing well, and my mother approved a rare outing. I went with my siblings…”
“Caia, Efren and Leander?” Touching his forearm, she read the names that were inked into his skin.
“Right. Our eldest brother didn’t come, or this wouldn’t be a fond memory. We left Golgerra—the only time I can remember being allowed to do so—and went down the mountain to a hot spring, where we bathed and played and had a picnic lunch. There, we picked the shalai the doctors needed for my bronchial treatment, and I was so tired and didn’t want to admit it that I fell asleep on Leander’s back on the way home.”
“It sounds wonderful,” she said.
From her expression, she didn’t think it was much of a story. There was no rising action, no climax,
no resolution. So he explained, “Until now, during this time with you, that moment was my happiest. I’ve kept it precious like a jewel in amber and every night, I play it in my head, so I don’t forget their faces.”
“Alastor—”
“I don’t mean to imply there haven’t been moments of brightness, of course. When Tycho gave Dedrick to me, when I saved Rowena, when the Exiles pledged themselves to me. But by and large, happiness has been a butterfly I could not catch.”
“I hear butterflies are more apt to land on your shoulder if you stand and wait.”
Too well Alastor understood that she said such things to cover emotional confusion; she didn’t think he wanted tips on catching insects. Still, her comment put a smile on his face.
“I wasn’t even waiting, anymore. When I met you. Hope, that was something I’d heard of in stories. You’ve given me so much that I wanted to share my happiest time with you. Because of you, I now have a treasure trove of beautiful moments to sift through at night when I’m alone, and there really are no words sufficient to—”
“Stop. You’re too good at this and I’m melting. Fate knows I’m terrible at this sort of thing, but I have to try.”
“What?” Astonished, Alastor tried to shift so he could see her face, but she wouldn’t let him.
“You can’t keep pouring such sweetness over me without expecting reciprocation.” She took his hand, and the heat of her fingers sent a pleasurable chill through him. “First I need to tell you a story, though. For context.”
“I’m listening.” Her voice was lovely, and if she wanted to talk, holding her while she did was the best job in the world.
“I’ve always been…different.” Sheyla hesitated over the word before continuing and he squeezed her hand in encouragement. “I established early on that I was always more interested in science than in people. It was to the point that my parents took me in for treatment. I saw six doctors, four seers. I think they were afraid of me being Latent, becoming Aberrant, or worse.”
He wasn’t sure if he should ask, but he did anyway. “Aberrant?”
“It’s someone who can’t conform to pride customs. They don’t socialize well, they don’t care about others, and sometimes they become…cruel. Violent.”
“So Tycho is Aberrant. Good to know.” It was only a little joke.
Her huff of a laugh and the way her shoulders eased told him it was the right tone. “When I was small, I had a fascination with, well, dead things.”
That was a bit strange, not enough to make him react except to say, “Oh?”
“I didn’t kill them. My parents thought I did, that’s why they were so alarmed. But when I found dead animals, I wanted to open them up and see how they worked, thinking that maybe I could fix live ones later. Which is still morbid, I suppose.”
He nodded and set his cheek against her hair. “Your parents feared they had a tiny monster on their hands.”
“Basically. As I grew, I tried to pretend better, but as my pride mates were eyeing each other, I was only interested in lab work. I’m never attracted to someone by looking at them.”
“That explains why you resisted my obvious charms for so long,” he joked.
“It is why,” she agreed. “I discovered sex late and experimented with it just like I did everything else, with my head in charge and my body following. My first time came about because one of my pack mates told me bluntly that she wanted to fuck. I do better with such obvious cues.”
“Which means…”
“I’ve never cared before,” she said. “Maybe I’m not a monster like my parents feared but I am… it’s probably just as well that you can’t have me forever, because I’d probably hurt you in time, or not be able to—”
“I’m guessing there’s some perfect median in your eyes?” He cut her off because he couldn’t stand to hear the rest.
“What?”
“Relationships should conform to this pattern, a gold standard, and you don’t measure up. I’ll allow that you’re special. For fucking certain, you’re like nobody I’ve ever known, but I will have words with your family, if they’ve led you to believe you can’t make somebody deliriously happy someday.”
“Don’t provoke my father,” she said. “He has bad knees.”
“You can’t change the subject. There’s no right way to partner with someone. What works for one pair won’t for another. And I could list so many amazing qualities about you that you’d doze off as if your sterling traits were a bedtime story.”
“Pass,” she mumbled.
She did lift his hand and seal a kiss against his palm; he wished he could find a way to preserve it. The heat faded by increments as she thought of what to say. He could feel her pensive pause, the way her confusion smoothed to acceptance. Alastor understood that he’d pay a price for this connection; the pain of her departure would be a fresh hell that he walked through for ten thousand days, and maybe even then, it wouldn’t cease.
Is the bitter worth the sweet?
For her? Yes. Always.
“Now you understand where I’ve been, I can tell you where I am. With you, sex is not exercise. I feel things. And you, I want in ways I can hardly explain. I don’t have pretty words to give, but Alastor, you matter like my own family. During the day, I think of you, I worry, and I miss you. At night, I want to be with you.”
She came up on her knees to face him, her eyes anxious. He curved a hand to her cheek. “What, love?”
“Is that enough? Did I make you understand? I am… not good at this.”
“You are perfection,” he said honestly. “With this, you’ve told me that your heart is a lock, I am the key, and I have never felt so fortunate in my entire life. Truly, this is…humbling.”
He kissed her; it was inevitable and she wrapped her arms around his neck. For endless moments, he tasted the softness of her lips, the sweetness of her mouth, and it dizzied him to the point that for a wild moment, he thought the rumbling was from his breaking heart, or perhaps that passion could, in fact, make the earth move.
The boom sounded again, distant and terrible.
Sheyla broke away, breathless and…dismayed. Of course, she could identify the sound with her excellent ears. “It’s artillery. My turn to tell a story has to wait.”
They were already dressed when Zan pounded on the door, shouting, “Your Highness! Doctor Halek! It’s begun, the enemy is here!”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “It seems as if the choice has been taken from you. It won’t be safe to travel now.”
Briefly, Alastor wished he was a good enough man to regret that twist of fate.
He wasn’t.
21.
Outside, it was chaos.
When Sheyla followed Zan, she knew intellectually that the battle they’d been preparing for had begun, but it was another thing to smell the cordite and lightning in the air, and feel the ground tremble from the shells raining down. There was an orange glow to the west like multiple fires were raging.
Alastor paused long enough to touch her hand. “Don’t engage. Go to St. Casimir if you want to help.”
“Sire, we need you at the front. Everyone’s waiting for your orders,” Zan urged.
“I’m coming.”
He let go of her, racing off into the darkness, and Sheyla knew fear on a level so visceral that it was hard to breathe for a few seconds. She got it under control and headed toward the hospital. Impossible not to notice that she was like a salmon swimming upstream—so many people running in the opposite direction.
Finally, she grabbed a militia officer. “Is the hospital still open?”
He shook his head. “Sorry, ma’am. They’re evacuating this entire section of the city. Golgoth are on the march and they’ll sweep through here soon.”
The newer part of the city had no walls, nothing to check the enemy. Tycho’s forces might even raze St. Casimir to weaken the defenders.
We were prepared for this, she told herself.
Stil
l, she ached to think of the ancient building reduced to rubble. Gods and curses, where would they put the sick and injured? What about Dedrick? While healthy civilians could evac quickly, it would be all but impossible to clear out the whole hospital. Some of the life support systems had no long-term mobile equivalent.
She had been about to turn back; instead, she nodded a thank-you at the officer and kept pushing through the crowd, resolute no matter how many times she got shoved or jostled. At one point, she blocked an elbow in the throat, thrown by a man in a complete panic. As she cleared the plaza, the crowd thinned. The path to the hospital was eerily deserted, though she could still hear the low rumbles in the distance.
Four kilometers, give or take. It won’t be long.
Inside, only a skeleton crew remained.
All the patients who could leave under their own power had been discharged in a great rush. She’d never seen the place so empty, so still.
“Color me unsurprised to see you, Dr. Halek.” Her former mentor managed to startle her yet again.
“This is where I can best lend aid,” she said. “With my specialized training, it would be a waste for me to fight.”
“But you’d like to.”
She let out a sigh. “My skin’s itching with the need to change. I want to get out there and—”
“Me too,” Dr. Seagram admitted.
“They’d be in trouble if all the doctors died in battle.”
“Too true. Sometimes the best measure of courage is forcing yourself to wait when you’d rather go to war.”
“Agreed. Is your mate out there?” She didn’t usually ask such personal questions, but these were rare circumstances.
“He is, much to my chagrin.”
Mine too.
The thought formed before she could stop it. They had made no promises, her family would be appalled, and she was useless to Alastor in terms of political leverage. This bond must be broken. Sheyla didn’t look forward to that.
For now, though…
“Brief me on the situation here. What patients are left and what’s the plan for keeping them safe?”
