by Lisa Morgan
I vaguely heard footsteps walk by us and thought I saw the shadow of the fairy leaving the room, muttering about needing to be alone. I saw filthy feet pace past, along with a pair of women’s boots, no words spoken at all.
Now alone, my grandfather lifted my weakened body, carrying me in his arms to the small couch. I drew my knees against my chest as he remained sitting behind me with his arms holding me.
I still couldn’t breathe, wailing and begging aloud for someone to tell me I’d had a horrible nightmare, to let me know none of this was really happening. I tried making bargains with anyone, offering anything they wanted, if they’d just bring him back.
My grandfather stayed silent as he held me, not afraid of breaking me any more than I was already fractured. He knew I needed that; I needed to know that someone was here, that I wasn’t alone.
I was oblivious to the passage of time, lost to everything except my anguish. When I’d finally garnered the strength to look at him, my grandfather’s face was contorted and suffering. He was living every emotion I was feeling along with me, suffering the same pain in silence.
My breathing slowly began to return to normal, and when I hoped I could support myself once more, I pulled away, reaching my hand out to his. He squeezed it as Autumn and Davis returned, a tray in her hands. Handing the platter to the lycan, she lifted the glass of water and offered it to me.
“This will help,” she offered me softly, no conviction in her voice. She knew as well as I, no glass of water would wash this away.
I nodded my thanks anyway as I took it. I sipped at the glass before looking to Liam.
I whispered sadly, “Why didn’t you tell me? That my blood could kill—”
“He asked me not to,” my grandfather replied tenderly.
Confused, I stuttered, “Why … why would he do that? Why wouldn’t he want to protect himself from me?”
More guilt pushed at my lungs, and I tried to breathe deep, my body quivering. I felt Autumn’s hand, rubbing my back compassionately.
“When Michel returned to The Trust,” Liam spoke in a sorrowful, soothing explanation, “the day he first saw you at the mall, the day he gave you a ride home, he already knew you were the Phoenix. He knew about your blood and what it could do to him. His eyes were shining when he spoke of you, Maggie—of the way you’d held him during the trip to your house. He said it was like you’d put a spell on him from the moment you’d looked at him.
“He stayed, watching you even after you thought he’d left, hiding his motorcycle a mile from your house and running back.”
Liam smiled at the memory he was relaying. “We picked on him when he told us how he’d hidden behind a tree a few homes away, hoping he’d catch another glimpse of you.
“He said you took his breath away as he watched you walk back outside and sit on the porch steps, petting Seatha before you knew what she really was.”
I remembered the day, the feeling of eyes on me when I’d stood. I recalled searching the street for what had been looking at me, sensing the additional presence of something.
Liam lifted my chin from my knees to look at him, wanting me to see the truth in his words. “From that first moment, we all saw what he felt. He was in love with you. Michel would have done whatever you asked of him.”
“Except stay,” I whispered. “Anything … except stay with me.” Another tear left my eye and I swiped at it.
“He was afraid that if you knew the sentence your blood could inflict on him, he’d lose you. Michel said he’d rather have you for only a day than to never have you at all.”
I didn’t want the answer to my next question. I wanted some magical clock that could turn back the sands of time, that could give me back Michel so I’d cherish each moment, so I could avoid what had transpired. However, if such a timepiece existed, I knew it would have been used already. “What happens next?”
“Luc took Michel back to Celine, to the castellan of their family. The Prince will be prepared and then honored.”
“When …” I tried to ask quietly, feeling all of my energy draining.
“Before the sun rises the day after tomorrow. We will transport there shortly,” my grandfather instructed.
I nodded my head and felt guilty as I yawned.
I’d never seen Michel yawn, I never would …
“Autumn prepared a sleeping tincture for you,” Liam explained my yawn. “You will drift off.”
“No!” I yelled at the people around me as I jumped to my feet. Autumn’s face was drawn in, ashamed that she had given me the concoction.
“I asked it of her. I thought it to ease you,” Liam told me thoughtfully.
“I don’t want to be eased!” I argued back, even as my eyelids grew heavier. “I want … Michel …”
I thought I heard Liam ask Davis to catch me and then give the werewolf directions to my room. I imagined my feet leaving the floor and the tension escaping my body.
I heard my strained voice whisper Michel’s name before the world went dark.
Thirty Nine
Maggie … the kind voice called to me, slowly pulling me from the peace I was finding in my dream. I fought to ignore it, not wanting to leave. Michel looked down to me, his hand cupping my face as he smiled and began to fade away.
“Don’t go! Michel.”
He didn’t reply. Tears stained my face as the unseen voice called for me again.
Maggie, you need to wake now.
My eyes opened but were unable to focus. I felt the cool hand caress my cheek, wiping away the cloudiness and tears.
“Michel?” I spoke in a plea; the hand paused briefly at my words. I felt the bed rise as whoever was beside me stood. Blinking, the world around me came into focus.
I was in the same bedroom at King Edwyn’s stronghold in Celine that I’d been in prior to the ball. The room was bathed in shades of silver and blue, heavy curtains hanging over the windows, only letting in slivers of moonlight. I watched the dust motes floating in the beams, drifting toward the floor before swirling up and out of sight. The robins that had been my sentries the first time I woke in this bed were nowhere to be found.
At the foot of my bed was Seatha. She wore an attempt at comfort on her lips, guised as a smile.
“I wasn’t sure if you would wake,” she admitted quietly.
“What is it?” I asked, swinging my legs over the side of the featherbed, rubbing my eyes to shed the last remaining bits of guck from them. She didn’t speak at first, instead stepping close to me and putting her delicate hand on my shoulder.
“Maggie,” she gently prodded, “it’s time.”
I was brought reluctantly back to reality. A breath came, clawing its way in my lungs and forcing me to breathe when everything in my heart screamed to lie down and die.
“I don’t think I can do this,” I whispered, more to myself than the fairy. I heard the soft fluttering of her wings, the sound similar to the one of a dog trying to quietly shake water from its fur.
“Maggie,” she went on, sitting and wrapping her arms around me. I felt her calming abilities sweep over me, and I stood, backing away from her.
“Not this time.”
“I can make this easier for you,” she offered gently. I saw the hurt in her eyes. She wanted to help me, but this was something I needed to feel.
“I appreciate that,” I answered her, reaching for Seatha’s hand and looking to the carpet. “Under any other circumstances, I’d gladly take you up on your offer. I know it would be easier to do so now.”
“Then why refuse?” she asked tenderly, standing. She put her hands on my shoulders while I brought my head up. She didn’t try to ease me with her touch
“Because if I shut it off now, if I avoid the pain, it will be like it isn’t real.”
“Would that be so bad?” the fairy whispered.
“No, it wouldn’t,” I responded as quietly, looking for courage before adding, “but you can’t bring Michel back.
“When my
father went away,” I told the fairy softly, “I was so young. I thought someone had just stolen him from me. I spent weeks waiting for his return, until the cruel reality was shoved down my throat. It made it so much worse.
“I need to face this the same way that Michel faced the revenants.” My words faltered before I could go on, “The way he faced them to keep me safe. No, I can’t let you take this from me. I need to say good-bye in my way.”
I remembered the first time I’d visited this castle. The memory of that night, of the orchestra playing, the walk in the garden, of the kiss by the fountain that had begun so sweetly. It all drifted in my mind’s eye, and tears brimmed once more.
“No.” Steeling myself and forcing the tears away, I looked at Seatha. “Let the king see. Let him see and feel my pain. I want him to know what this war has cost him.”
“It won’t make a difference to him. He has long ago stopped shedding tears for those he cares for,” Seatha said with despair.
“Then let him see mine!” I flared angrily. “Michel was his son! He can be damned for not caring!”
“He does care,” the fae replied, walking to the mirror on the wall. “Long ago, he’d have moved the stars and moon to protect his sons.”
“Then why does he do nothing now?” I asked. I felt my temperature rising, dangerously close to an eruption of flames when I thought back to my friends coming to free me from Ossa. The king could have sent his army with them, but he didn’t. I was determined to find out why that was, but not today. This day was not for finding answers.
“Because he is the king. A sign of weakness, even a hint of emotion, could be his undoing,” Seatha stated.
I rolled my eyes and couldn’t keep my sarcasm to myself. “A sign of weakness? His son is dead!”
The words hit me hard. The cool realization of what I had just said slapped every fiber of my being; an arrow shot through my heart.
“He’s dead,” I whispered, the two words suffocating me.
Seatha returned to my side, fabric draped over her arms. “Put this on,” she encouraged me softly.
I took the smooth velvet from her hands. It was cool, like Michel’s hand had been. It was a deep red color with strands of spun silver tracing a design though out the bodice; ivy maybe. I didn’t care. I didn’t want to wear the gown. I wanted to throw on Michel’s leather jacket, clutch it against my body, and inhale the smell of him.
I wanted to crawl back onto that cot in my tent like I had before the battle, Michel’s arms wrapped around me, his thumb making slow, lazy circles over the back of my hand.
Unfortunately, I wouldn’t have that again.
“Give me a moment to dress,” I timidly asked of Seatha, making my way to the bathroom and trying to shove the memories away. She bowed slightly as I walked past her.
The reflection I saw in the glass horrified me more than any creature I’d seen drawn in that history book, more terrorizing than even Ossa himself. Frightening because it forced me, once again, to know this was really happening.
My eyes were swollen and pink; my face sunken and grey. My hair clung to my head, cemented in place by the tears I’d cried in my sleep. I picked up the silver-plated brush and made a halfhearted attempt to rake it through. I didn’t care what I looked like, but I knew I had to be strong … for Michel.
After unknotting my hair, I stepped into the dress that Seatha had given me. It fit tightly around my waist, pushing my chest upward, and buttoned in the front, dark sapphires like my mother’s necklace as clasps.
Who was I kidding? I thought to myself. Thinking I can walk out there and pretend to be something I’m not? That I can stand there with those heartless creatures and offer the same unfeeling salutes I know they’d give in tribute to their ruler.
I braced myself against the counter top and heaved. I would have vomited, but my stomach had been empty for so long, nothing came up except dry gasps of air.
When I finally felt I had some semblance of control, I raised my head to the mirror again, new streaks staining my face.
Seatha came from behind, and I could see the pain on her face. Reaching around, she picked up the brush and began running it through my hair. We didn’t say anything. She didn’t try to force me to speak nor did she try to mask my emotion. I watched her in the mirror. Silently my tears fell as she carefully twisted my hair to my head.
It was an act of kindness, one that a mother might offer. Sitting their crying child on her lap and brushing their hair, maybe after they were teased by an especially mean child or after they’d fallen off their bicycle. A soothing gesture to remind the child that someone still loved them. Seatha did this now, wordlessly offering me her sympathies.
A silver clip held my hair in place. Shaped like the crescent moon and traced with what were probably diamonds, it glistened in the few rays of light that entered the bathroom through the window.
“Lady Seatha,” a voice called softly from the bedroom doorway.
With a gentle rub on my back and a look at my reflection, Seatha replied, “We’re ready.”
Nodding my head, I blotted my eyes one final time. The fairy led me from the bath into the bed chamber.
A knight in full black armor stood at the opened door, his chest plate carrying the king’s crescent moon sigil. The clip in my hair suddenly made me sick to my stomach, thinking of the onlooker’s pledging their loyalties and false sympathies to Michel’s father.
“It was also his sigil,” Seatha commented, reading my emotions. I turned to her, and gave a brief nod. She reached out for my hand, taking it in hers.
The knight, his command to lead the way, turned and walked from the room, his armor clanging against the marble flooring.
With one more deep breath, I followed.
Forty
The hallway was silent. Other than the sounds of the knight’s armor striking the polished floor as we moved toward the throne room, one could almost mistake the corridor for a grave. It was dark, cold, and the air was thick with sorrow.
With each step closer to where we needed to be, I felt my resolve weakening. Seatha occasionally squeezed my hand, trying to give me strength. Each time, I responded with a smile that I knew didn’t look earnest.
The archway of the throne room came into view when we rounded the corner. The knight paused, waiting for Seatha and me to catch up.
“I leave you here,” Seatha informed me softly, echoing the phrase my grandfather had given me days ago at the opening to another room in this castle, a room that had been filled with the melodies of violins and cellos.
A tune that had hung in the air when Michel had held me against him, like I was the only one he saw …
My face flashed the dread I felt as I kept hold of her tiny hand. Suddenly, all the courage I’d been feeling, all the determined words I’d told my fairy friend in the guest room, failed me. An empty pain throbbed in my chest where I knew my heart used to beat.
She extended her wings. The rainbow of color knitted among the delicate fibers swirled and changed in front of me. The colors paled and greyed, taking more somber hues, the scar blending away from sight.
“This is really happening,” I exhaled, shaking with the growing emptiness I was feeling. My friend nodded her head once and kissed my forehead.
“Steel yourself,” she suggested softly. “Don’t show emotion, no matter how hard you wish to lash out or mourn. Stand with your shoulders back and don’t take your eyes from the center of the room.”
“Why?” I asked, not because I really wanted an explanation, but because I was trying to prevent the moment from happening. I knew the minute I entered that room, there was no turning away or avoiding it.
“Because the king will find it an insult,” Seatha gently explained the unfamiliar protocol as she drew back slowly.
I acknowledged her words with a squeeze of my hand. The fairy offered a slight smile, but my heart was not in my return.
“Proceed,” she instructed the knight who’d escorted us t
here. He gave a bow of his head then led the way into the room, veering left and disappearing.
Seatha clasped her hands in front of her, her gossamer wings hanging like a grey cloud on her back. She paced herself to a solemn gait as she walked into the room.
I stood still, holding my breath and trying to find the courage I needed to go through with the task at hand. Force of will moved my feet to step forward, and determination ordered my head to stay upright. Slowly, reluctantly, I entered the room to say farewell to the vampire I loved.
Crossing the threshold, I immediately made eye contact with the king as he sat on the throne opposite the entrance. He was wearing the same outfit he had the first time I’d seen him; regal black attire bearing the crescent moon emblem on his chest, his crown atop his head. The ruler kept his back taut and his face emotionless as he watched me pace toward him.
I slowly walked the last few steps before halting at King Edwyn’s feet. He bowed his head, acknowledging me, and motioned his hand to the right. I followed his direction, keeping my head held up against the weight of my pain.
A line of different beings stood as stoic as I was expected to. Satyrs and witches in fine spider-web gowns, Autumn included, stood together. Envoys of the most important beings representing the different areas of The Realm were all present.
Luc stood on the end of the line, closest to his father. He wore an outfit like his father’s, only varying in the fact that a sword hung at his waist. He made brief contact with me, and using his eyes, silently encouraged me to stand beside him.
Not dropping my chin, I made my way to his side. I held my hands together at my waist, my palms damp with sweat as I closed the distance.
The room remained still for what seemed like forever. Finally, a horn called out, its deep tone resonating and vibrating off the walls in the rounded chamber. The king stood from his throne, eyes circling the room, before they returned to the archway entrance. He gave a deep nod of his head. The horn ground once more. I saw Luc stiffen next to me, his eyes turning to the entrance. I followed his cue, looking to the arch.
