Burnt Devotion

by Rebecca Ethington

  That I had already passed from this life.

  “Am I dead?” The question came without prompting, the seemingly childish query more honest than I had meant it.

  There was only dead and not dead yet now. I couldn’t ask if I was going to be okay. I didn’t have that luxury anymore.

  “Not yet, sweetie, but I’ll stay here until the end,” he said with an exhale, his voice shaking even though I could tell he was trying to be strong. I could tell in the way he held my hand, the way his hand pressed against my cheek, even through the shake of his nerves, of his heartbreak.

  It made me ache. It made my muscles twist and writhe. It made my heart beat reawaken with a painful pulse of regret and longing.

  In the last moments of life, I felt more alive than I think I ever had. I focused on that, focused on the heat, focused on the hand that held mine. And, for the shortest breath of time, the pain didn’t seem to matter, the fire didn’t seem so destructive, and the blackness that surrounded me fell away.

  It faded to a dimly lit room that I recognized at once and a man who, even though he had changed—even though his hair was in long dreads and his skin more worn, his eyes slightly dimmed—it was still the man who had taught me so much about life and love.

  It was still Thom.

  I looked at him, the pressure of his hands tight against mine, as I saw him for the first time in centuries. As I saw him for the last time.

  I didn’t dare say anything. I didn’t have anything to say. He had heard it all before, felt it all, lived it all. Accordingly, I held his hand, staring into him as the world around him began to shift, as the black of the curse threatened to take me back into the disconnected world that it had trapped me in.

  I waited for it to come, watching the grey seep into the world, only to have a courtyard materialize before me, the world waving and blending together as my mind took me to a place that I hadn’t seen in what felt like years—the beautiful, perfect world that Talon and I had created inside our Tȍuha.

  Even though I was sure I hadn’t moved, even though I could still feel Thom’s hand around mine, I could see the sanctuary that our bond had created. I could see every brick, the bench we had spent so much time on, the shadowed body of a man leaning against the wall.

  My soul jerked at the apparition, the discolored, shadowed form seeming out of place. I knew at once who it was, even though I knew he shouldn’t be there. That I wasn’t there.

  “Talon?” I said his name, my voice soft with longing as I stared at the shadowed shape. I was sure he had turned toward me before the entire scene vanished into smoke, falling to the ground around me like smoke and ash and leaving me staring at Thom’s tear-streaked face, his eyes deep with understanding.

  My heart pulsed at seeing him there, torn between two worlds, two realities. I was saddened Talon was gone, my heart throbbing for the return of the Tȍuha. Yet, I clung to Thom, to the past, and to the last moments I would have with him.

  “He will be there, waiting for you,” Thom whispered as he leaned close to me, the brilliant blue of his eyes devouring me. “He’s going to be right there ... and ... and you know who is going to be with him?”

  The pulse in my chest became a stab of memories, of reminders of the life we shared, of the life I had so willingly chosen to forget.

  Never before had I regretted my decision to forget, not because I had turned my back on a life that had been so good, but because I had turned my back on Thom, a man who, for the first time, I realized, was still mourning the loss of our daughter as I was. He was still filled with pain and agony. We had both chosen to run away, although in different ways.

  “Rosaline?” The word dug into me, my back arching with fire and gut-wrenching agony that I had thought I had escaped.

  You can’t escape something that is wound so deeply in your soul, however. I knew that now. I knew that in the way Thom’s voice pulled me from the pain of the curse and the way Rosaline’s memory bound us together.

  “Yeah, sweetie, she is going to be right there with Talon. She’s been waiting for you, waiting ... for her mommy.”

  Everything ached at his promise, the pain from the curse seeming to come back full force as he turned away in his own pain. I gasped at the fire, my body writhing as I continually tried to fight the pain. I struggled against the scream that tried to rip itself out of me, the blackness that wanted to take me away again.

  In a way, it would almost be more preferable, but I didn’t want to lose this, lose these last moments. If only I had a choice.

  I stared at Thom as my vision began to waiver, the same courtyard from before materializing around me, the same shadowed figure tucked off into a corner. Except, this time, he wasn’t quite as shadowed, he wasn’t quite as far away.

  He stood, his body distorted as though I was looking at him through a fog, like I was only seeing him through a veil of life and death. That was exactly what it was, I realized. He was dead, and I was not. Not yet. He was standing there, ready to take me into his arms, ready to hold me in death as he had in life.

  “She will be there,” Thom’s voice came to me as if he was still sitting right there, but I didn’t see him anymore.

  I couldn’t seem to look away from the figure before me. Part of me desperately hoped he would step through the fog to take me, while part of me dreaded the moment when he would.

  “Do you remember that big smile she had after she lost her first tooth? How she would always push her tongue through the little gap?”

  I knew Thom wanted me to answer, but I wasn’t sure I could. I wasn’t sure I wanted to. I couldn’t look away from Talon, my heart a thunder in my chest as I waited for him to do something. His shadowed form seemed more and more ominous with each moment that passed.

  “She’s not responding…” Thom’s voice was broken, but until right then, I hadn’t cared. I had only cared about the man before me, about what he was there to do, even if it scared me.

  “You have to choose.” The voice cut through the fog, deep and heavy. It resounded through my head in such a way that I knew it had come from inside me. While the deep, haunted rumble of the sound was unfamiliar, it was still comforting, its message clear.

  Talon stood before me, shrouded by death. I could choose to be with him. I could choose to die.

  I jerked at the realization, at how quickly it came, my confusion rumbling at what it meant.

  How could I choose? You couldn’t choose to live through this, through this curse. I was going to die. There wasn’t a choice, only a reality.

  “Just keep trying,” Sain’s voice cut through the distanced thoughts, attempting to bring me back into reality. I remained staring at Talon’s shadowed form, the distorted body shifting as it moved forward, as a hand reached toward me through the fog that clouded him.

  He extended his hand toward me, his fingers moving through the cloud and becoming more than a shadowed distortion. They became real. They were skin and callouses and a scar I recognized at once.

  They became Talon.

  I looked up to him, expecting to see his smile, but he was still cast in static. His body was out of focus, as if I couldn’t see him quite right, as if my eyes weren’t powerful enough to see.

  “Do you remember when we took her to the beach?” I could barely hear Thom now, even though his voice was deep and loud in my ears. It was almost like it couldn’t move through the fog I was now surrounded by.

  “You have to choose,” the deep voice came again, rumbling through me. While clear in meaning, it was still confusing to me. I wanted to tell it I didn’t have a choice, that someone had already made it for me. I couldn’t seem to find the words, though.

  It didn’t matter, anyway.

  Talon was before me, his hand extended toward me, beckoning me home.

  I began to reach toward him, my body feeling light and warm as I moved, the pain of the curse almost gone now. I wanted to rejoice that it was gone, that I had left it behind. Left life behind. However, I
couldn’t. Despite the warmth being a soothing balm to the pain, there was something off about it, something foreign.

  Something was wrong.

  Something was pulling me back.

  No, not something—someone.

  “N-n-need m-more.” I recognized the voice at once, even through the broken stutter and the fear that trembled underneath it.

  It was Joclyn.

  It was her magic that I felt move through me.

  It was her power that was trying to heal me, to save me,

  I looked up to Talon, to his body that was so clear I could reach out and touch him. I wanted to.

  I also knew that I couldn’t, not yet.

  Sain had seen this. He had seen every bit of this. His need to get me to Joclyn had been so sure, right from the start. It wasn’t merely to say goodbye, either. They still needed me.

  What was more, I still needed them.

  I still needed to live.

  “I’m sorry.” I couldn’t get any more out than that.

  He smiled, wide and clear, as if he knew what he had done, as if he had been planning it for years and was proud of it. Seeing that look, seeing the playfulness in his eyes, a look that was so distinctly him I couldn’t have a hope of recreating it within my subconscious, I knew it was him. I knew it was real.

  All of it.

  “Be happy, Wyn,” he whispered, his voice soft in my ear as Rosaline’s laugh echoed around us, the sound bringing joy and hope to me unlike any time before.

  Light and warmth seeped into me then, moving through me in a wave of calm that took the heaviness of the dream away.

  I stayed still as the warmth left my skin, a chill moving over me. The smell of damp air and sandalwood permeated everything around me.

  I tried to turn toward Talon, to move a little, but the lightness in my body had departed, leaving me with the heavy weight of exhaustion and residual pain. I knew at once I wasn’t going to be moving anytime soon.

  A deep groan escaped my lips. The irritation of being trapped as well as being weak a death sentence. At the sound of my irritation, a relieved gasp filled the air around me, a gasp that was not mine.

  My eyes snapped open in alarm at the sound, my heart beating a million miles an hour as they worked to adjust to the dimly lit space. The heavy buzz of agitated voices filled the air as my eyes went to the man who hovered above me, his cheeks stained with tears and long ropes of his hair pulled away from his face.

  “You’re awake,” he gasped as the loud buzzing of voices disappeared into nothing. His lips twitched into a smile so rare I was sure no one had seen it in centuries.

  I stared at him—at his eyes, his dimples, and the face that I had memorized hundreds of years before. My heart pulsed once in an emotion so strong it almost felt out of place given what I had left, what had happened, and the way my soul and heart and life had been split into two pieces of me.

  Be happy, Wyn.

  “Thomas.”

  Two

  I had fallen asleep clinging to his hand, our fingers intertwined in a hold that was more friendship than passion. It was a grasp that was exactly what we both needed—a hand to hold, a reminder that someone was there.

  When I woke, his hand was still there, the calloused skin rough and slightly sweaty from holding onto me for so long.

  The room glowed with a few lanterns that were scattered over my desks and tables. The flashes of lightning blended with a slight orange glow, giving everything a haunted look and far too many shadows for my liking. Seeing Dennis DeYoung and the rest of Styx with half illuminated faces was a bit too much for me. Nothing should be allowed to mar his beautiful face, strictly speaking.

  I stared at the poster as the abbey roared with the incessant thunder that the pained soul of the earth was reigning on us. I looked at all of them, at the necklaces that hung from the ceiling, and the brightly colored walls. My eyes moved from place to place as my mind slowly began to wake up. Everything that had happened over the last twenty-four hours came back so quickly it began to mash together.

  Shifting my weight, I brought my hand to eye height. The shadows of the marks that were once so dark they looked like ink were now shadowed, making me wonder if I was seeing them properly, if I was remembering them the right way.

  If I was remembering anything the right way.

  Even through the ache in my body and the vivid imagery of a shadowed Talon standing before me, the reason we had come here slammed into me, my breath heaving as I gasped. I tried to sit up, although it became crystal clear it wasn’t going to happen any time soon.

  “Wyn?” Thom’s tense voice ripped through my panic.

  My eyes darted to him, narrowing dangerously as I tried to dispel the level of confusion I was having.

  “I need to get to Ilyan,” I gasped, knowing I was speaking irrationally yet unable to stop it in my half-awake fog. “Tell him what happened … in Prague. What Edmund did.”

  “He already knows.” Thom’s voice was full of regret, a dark cast moving over his features as he looked away from me, his hand tightening around mine. He sighed. “Sain told him last night.”

  The tension in my chest left as quickly as it had come. I should have been happy that I had been spared that conversation, but I couldn’t be. Not with the way Thom stared into the darkness, his shoulders hunched and broken. Not with what I knew Ilyan had been forced to hear about Talon, Ovailia, and the city he had protected since he had first come into power and even before.

  Thom sat beside me, lost in his own thoughts as he always was when he was brooding.

  Part of me wished he would say something, to talk, to ask him a million questions, to dig into his soul and discover everything that happened over the past hundred and fifty years. However, there was another part that wanted to curl up in a ball, cry, mourn, and ask this seemingly unfamiliar stranger to leave.

  And that was part of the problem.

  I had thought I had it all figured out before in Imdalind when Sain and I had fought our way past Edmund’s army. I had thought I had managed to find a middle ground between the person I was for the centuries when I did Edmund’s bidding, when I smuggled information for Ilyan, and the person I had been for the last hundred years with Talon.

  Nevertheless, there were too many parts of me now to have anything be that easy—the part that killed for sex and money, hunted, spied on my own people for centuries; the mother, the mourner, the lover; the part that loved Talon; the part that loved Thom.

  Sitting here with Thom, in the room I had decorated with Talon, was making that abundantly clear in that irritating, “pretending REO Speedwagon is a decent band” kind of way.

  I was sitting amongst band posters and brightly colored comforters, a life that felt unfamiliar, while staring at the man who owned my heart long before I had taunted the shadowed figure behind the tree.

  I sat, looking at the way Thom’s lips twitched as they always had, seeing the bright blue of his eyes that were so much more expressive than Ilyan’s ever could be. I was having trouble finding the line between all the different parts and lives of me.

  “I’m sorry, Wynifred,” Thom whispered into the dark chill of the room, his eyes not deviating so much as a millimeter from mine.

  I jumped at his voice while the sky cracked with light again. My body ached at the quick movement, a groan escaping like a slow leak. Everything hurt.

  While I was grateful for whatever Jos had done to save my life, it also seemed to be the equivalent of getting hit by a Mack truck covered in protruding knives. And probably a herd of deer following. I was sure, if I looked close enough, I would find a few hoof shaped bruises.

  “Why?” I regretted the question the second I asked it. I regretted the way my voice snapped as it always had and the anger that flowed freely behind that one word.

  I opened my mouth to apologize, to take it back, but Thom only smiled at me, his bright white teeth flashing in a straight line behind slightly chapped lips. I started at the r
esponse, my heart beating fast in confusion before it sunk in—the reason for his smile, and why my knee-jerk reaction seemed so comfortable to him.

  It was me.

  The me he knew, anyway.

  The knowledge only made my stomach flip, my body shaking in exhaustion as I looked toward the faded poster I had purchased on the Fleetwood Mac world tour.

  “They said you had changed.” Calm washed through me at the slight laugh in his voice, the familiarity seeping deep into my bones. “I’m glad to see it’s not too much.”

  “I have changed.” My voice was distant as I my focus dodged from the faded poster to the goofy picture of Talon and I that had been framed in the 70s, back when every picture came out sepia toned and far too yellow. We looked like we had taken a bath in yellow mud, and it didn’t quite wash off.

  I stared at that picture with the calm rhythm of Thom’s breathing the only sound in the room.

  It was true. I had changed. There was no denying that. However, it was more than that. More than just someone growing up, learning more about themselves and how to survive within society.

  “I had a different life … a hundred years…” My voice faded away as I looked from the picture back to Thom who still looked at me with unexplained awe in his eyes, as if I was back from the dead. Of course, I guess that was true no matter which way you spun it.

  The thought sent a shiver of tension up my spine, picturing the image of Talon standing in the white shadows of my dream.

  “Ilyan told me,” Thom’s voice cut through the dark as he shifted his weight, the old bed frame creaking under the movement. “Right after it happened, he told me about how you forgot everything, how you fell in love with Talon…”

  “He fell in love with me, too.” The words were out before I could stop them, as if they had a life of their own and needed to be heard, as though I needed Thom to understand.

  I did.

  I needed him to understand.

  Saying I had changed was one thing, but with our past, we couldn’t pick up where we had left off. There was no way that would happen.