Crown of Cinders

by Rebecca Ethington

  “Where is the queen?”

  “She said she is coming.” My voice was as dead as I was, one hollow note of sound that hit against my heart painfully.

  A few of them looked up at my response, their lips pressed into the same tight line before they went back to work.

  Everything was distorted by my tears, everything except the profile of Risha’s face that peeked out from between the quickly working Skȓíteks. Eyes stinging, I stared, crippled by the sight of blood that seeped from her nose and mouth, as well as her eye socket that was sunken and inflamed.

  I swallowed, my throat a painful lump that restricted my breathing. Then I gasped, suddenly uncertain if I would ever get enough air again.

  “She’s coming,” I repeated, willing it to be true, although I knew as all the others did that she might be a while. I knew where she was … who she was with.

  Jaromir wasn’t the only one who had died.

  My heart tensed as my hand tightened around his, his little fingers as stiff and cold as ice.

  “Please, Joclyn, hurry. Please,” I growled to myself past clenched teeth.

  My heart raced inside my chest with the fear that the healers who flittered and fluttered around the girl I had so quickly fallen in love with were right, that they couldn’t do much without Joclyn’s aid.

  But the fear was more than that. It was the fear of what I had said—the terrible admission that I had fallen in love. I had fallen in love with this girl who now lay on a bloodstained sheet, fighting for her life. I was in love with her. And I was about to lose her.

  It would figure that I would fall in love, only to lose it again.

  No.

  I couldn’t think like that.

  I wouldn’t.

  Pinching my eyes together in an attempt to block out the sound of the Skȓíteks, to block out their panic, I focused on the last time I had seen her, how soft her hand had been against mine. How warm she had been. How much I had wanted to kiss her. How much I wanted to feel her lips against mine.

  The precious memory was shattered by the sound of the large wooden door at the other end of the hall. Air rushed past us as Ilyan and Joclyn ran in.

  Ilyan’s arms were full of a large sheet, the formerly white fabric covered in crimson stains that spread over the fabric like blossoms.

  Several of the Skȓíteks who were tending to Risha ran toward Ilyan, their hands over their mouths as the panic in the room increased, the agonizing tension pressing against my chest.

  I wanted to tell them to stay there, not to leave Risha, that she needed them. However, I couldn’t get the words out past the lump in my throat.

  Besides, Jos was already bee-lining right for us, her eyes as puffy and swollen as mine; her skin and clothes as blood colored. If I hadn’t known better, I would have said the red sky Edmund had covered us with had fallen down upon us and drenched us all.

  “Jos,” I gasped, my voice coming out in a stutter she didn’t even seem to notice.

  I finally let go of Jaromir’s stiff, curled fingers and ran around the bed to meet her, my tiny best friend whose head was a full foot below mine.

  Jos ran right into me, her arms wrapping around me as mine did her. “I’m sorry, Ry.”

  It was all she said, three words that slammed against my heart and twisted my gut so tightly the tears came again. They rushed from me in loud, obnoxious sobs. The emotional breakdown was made worse by the pressure of her body against mine, by the feeling of sorrow that we both shared.

  It ripped through me, tensing every muscle and tightening my lungs. I gasped for breath, desperate to get air but also not caring if I ever breathed again. Everything hurt too much. I didn’t want to feel it anymore. And from the way Joclyn sobbed and clung to me, I knew that pain, that desire, was not only mine.

  “I’m sorry, too,” I gasped out past the tears, the words broken and painful.

  Her arms fell away from me as she took a step back, turning toward the girl I could now see clearly. For the first time since I had put her on this cot, I could see every injury: the way her arm twisted the wrong way, the way the skin on her stomach was ripped open, the way part of one of her legs was mostly detached.

  I swallowed, willing the bile threatening to come up back down, and pushed my way to her bedside, leaning against the wall as I pressed my hand against her blood-soaked hair, too scared to watch Joclyn as she went to work. Too scared to look at Risha. Too scared to admit that this might be the last time I saw her. That this would be my last memory of her.

  This broken, beaten, blood covered girl.

  I didn’t want this to be my last memory. I didn’t want this to be the end.

  “Try, Jos,” I said more to myself than to her, but she heard me, anyway.

  Her silver eyes took one long look at me before she went to work, her voice echoing around me as she began to order the others around.

  I barely heard her.

  Everything was inaudible over the fearful buzzing in my ears, the sound of my heartbeat rumbling in my throat. I could see Joclyn talking and see the others rush around.

  In the overwhelming static, Ilyan ran up to us, wrapping his hand around Risha’s wrist as he looked at me, his face intense with something I would never hear.

  It was merely buzzing.

  Merely heartbeats.

  Merely pain.

  Say your good-byes, son.

  The voice was a taunt. It was wickedness. But for the first time in a year, I listened to it.

  Leaning over Risha, I pressed my cheek to hers, feeling the surprising warmth of her skin against mine and the warmth of her blood.

  Wiping away the crimson stain, I kissed her for the first time. I pressed my lips to her cheek, letting a tiny spark of my magic flow into her, wishing her magic would respond to it and that I could feel her magic against mine. Nevertheless, there was nothing except the startling heat of her skin, the fever that was ravaging her already broken body.

  Not caring who saw, I let my lips linger there before I shifted, whispering in her ear the words I should have said weeks ago. I hoped she would hear.

  “I love you, Reesh.”

  I didn’t know if I had expected a Míracle with those words. I didn’t know if I expected anything. But with that single admission, the buzzing that had filled my head ceased, and the sounds of the room flooded me as the panic and fear I had tried to escape came back, slamming me in the chest and flattening me against the wall.

  What did you expect, you stupid boy?

  I said say good-bye.

  This isn’t a fairy tale.

  The words were stuck in my head, no matter how hard I tried to push them out. They were as stuck as I was while I watched Joclyn and Ilyan standing on either side of Risha’s bed, their hands wrapped around her, eyes locked, magic locked, tears streaming over their cheeks.

  Stuck as Joclyn gasped, her lips pressing into a tight line.

  Stuck as Ilyan turned toward me, his wide eyes sad, apologetic.

  No.

  Not apologetic. It couldn’t be. I didn’t want it to be. I didn’t want to admit I knew what that look meant. I didn’t want to admit I knew what was coming.

  Yet, I knew.

  I knew the second Ilyan let go of Risha’s hand, the second he let it fall back to the bed with a thud that rumbled through the air and smacked against my chest.

  Ilyan said nothing as he stepped toward me, before hugging me the same as Joclyn had done before. Except this one was different.

  It pressed against my heart and soul and held me in a way I had never been held before. A hug so tight I could tell he was trying to hold me together while I tried to fall apart. It was a hug that tried to give me strength, that tried to make everything okay.

  But it couldn’t.

  Nothing was okay anymore.

  Nothing would be again.

  The emotion twisted out of me, desperate to find something to hit as Joclyn placed Risha’s hand over her chest then covered her with her own bl
oodstained sheet. As she removed her from this world.

  I needed to hit something. I needed to hurt. But Ilyan held me there. He held me as I collapsed to the ground, trying to hold me together.

  But nothing could hold me together. Not anymore.

  “I’m sorry.”

  I didn’t know who said it, and I didn’t care. They could say it all they wanted.

  It didn’t change anything.

  It didn’t bring back what that little girl had taken away.

  It didn’t take away the pain.

  WYN

  17

  “I feel like I’m hugging a dead chicken,” I said, happy to be in his arms despite missing the usual bulk of his muscles.

  “Sorry about that, Wyn. I was too busy not dying to find time to hit a gym.” He chuckled, the laugh rippling over me.

  The sound was a familiar blanket that wrapped around me, rattling against the wreckage that was still scattered over Thom’s room. It attempted to scare away the memory of what had happened hours before, but there was too much.

  Ilyan had tried to cover it up, cleaning it the best he could, but the destruction was still scattered over the floor, stained on the floor, smeared on the walls.

  For the briefest of moments, however, I forgot all of that. Thom forgot all of that. And the room was happy, familiar. Then the laugh ended, and death enveloped the darkness again, leaving us lying on his bed, wrapped together in our bubble, savoring the last shard of joy that existed in the cathedral.

  By some Míracle, Thom was alive. Dramin’s magic had freed him from whatever Ovailia had done to him. It was the last act Dramin would ever do—saving his best friend’s life.

  At least, that was the best guess Ilyan had been able to come up with. Nothing else made sense, which was probably why I was having trouble accepting that all of this was real and not some drug-induced hallucination.

  I lived during the 70s, you know.

  I mean, not in that way, but I get it.

  Cuddled together on his bed, we lay in the dark. Our fingers danced above our heads, twisting and tangling over each other as though we weren’t certain if we should hold hands or not. I didn’t know if I wanted to or if that small movement would kill the dream.

  I guess it didn’t do to live in fear.

  “You can hold my hand, you know,” I teased, poking him in the side with my free hand. “It’s not going to eat you.”

  “It might. You don’t know,” Thom retorted, twisting his fingers through mine again before letting them go. My heart stuttered at the brief pressure. “It looks lethal.”

  “Thom,” I moaned, fully aware that it was something I had picked up from Jos. Thom knew it, too, and he laughed, both of us shaking from his chuckle as it rippled within him.

  “Besides, I’m too mesmerized by your new adornment.”

  “It’s a hole, Thom,” I sighed, moving my hand up so what little light we had in the room shone through it and over us. “Not an adornment.”

  “But it could be.”

  It was my turn to laugh, the sound strained with emotion and slightly out of place. “You sound like Joclyn. She wants me to put a spy glass in the—”

  “And you haven’t yet?” Thom asked, attempting to shift his weight enough to see me and failing, falling down to the bed with a grunt and a sigh. “What is wrong with you?”

  “Something drastic, obviously.”

  “Obviously.” He chuckled, the fluid dance of our hands stopping as his fingers trailed up my arm, the touch soft on my skin, tickling against my neck and jaw bone. “I guess we’ll have to fix that.”

  “I don’t see how you plan on doing that.” I teased.

  “I think I’ll find a way,” he snickered, moving himself so close to me that I could only see the bright blue of his eyes. I stared at the color, desperate for a breath I couldn’t get, for his lips were already locked on mine, his hands already twisted around my waist as he pulled me against him. The light pressure of his fingers made me shiver as they trailed up my spine before fanning over my neck, locking me in place.

  My gut twisted from the touch. Regret, want, and guilt wrestled with each other. They twisted together until my heart pushed them away and rejoiced in this moment, in this kiss that one very loud part of my soul had desired for centuries. We hadn’t shared a kiss like this since before our daughter had been taken from us.

  The kiss was pain and sadness, but it was also beautiful and wanted.

  My magic reacted to the touch, flaring and burning inside of me. I could barely breathe as he held me against him, his lips strong as they grabbed at mine, pressed against me. One after another, deeper and deeper, he smothered me with them, moving them over my jaw and down my neck.

  The heat of my magic erupted as he continued, the fire burning me as it tried to reach him. The sensation was familiar, one that I had missed for centuries. It was different than with Talon. The magic was different, the feeling different, but I still wanted it.

  I didn’t care that I could barely breathe. I didn’t care that my mind was screaming for oxygen and my magic for escape.

  I wanted more of this … more of him.

  I had forgotten how much I had missed and loved this. I had forgotten how good of a kisser Thom was. Forget letting him run his thumb over my hand … That wasn’t enough anymore.

  With a sigh, he pulled away, leaving me lying against him, heaving, my lungs finally receiving the air they were so desperate for. Thom’s hand was tight against me, keeping me pressed into him as he, too, heaved. The heat of his skin lessened, and the sound of his heartbeat rattled in amped up excitement.

  “Either you enjoyed that, or you are going into cardiac arrest,” I teased, my voice windswept.

  “I was wondering why my arm was numb,” he teased back, shaking it above us. “I guess that’s why I kissed you—reflex from all the extra blood that’s pumping through me.”

  “Ha! Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it!”

  “Oh, I’m not pretending. I did enjoy it.” Thom gave me with that same deep, smoldering look he had for so long. His eyes melted me as his magic pressed into me.

  Yep. I was forgetting to breathe again, which was fine by me. I didn’t need oxygen as long as I was kissing him. So I did, pulling him into me and running my hands over his shoulders and arms.

  A deep groan of pleasure came from his throat as I moved to kiss his jaw. His breath was hot on my face as the sound escaped, his body shivering underneath me.

  My magic heated, pressing against me in such a desperate need to reach him that Thom gasped and removed his hand from my bare back.

  I was that hot.

  “I think…” I gasped as I pulled away, but his arms were so tight I couldn’t move very far. Fine by me. “I need to amp up my kissing game if I am going to be any kind of match for you in the future.” I was so out of breath I was surprised I got the words out or that they were even coherent. I might have said something about spaceman underpants for all I knew.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Thom …” I hesitated, clearing my throat dramatically as I sat up to look at him, hoping it would take my butterflies away. Nope. It made them worse. “You are an extraordinarily good kisser.” My voice cracked. What was I, twelve? How on earth did my voice crack? “I mean, you were good before … but you must have been practicing or something.”

  “No practice, just patiently waiting for you.” He smiled, moving closer.

  I knew what was coming.

  “You mean…” Everything was tight and twisted in nervousness and excitement, making the snark all that much harder to process. The hard drive in my brain must have been shutting down. “All of that is natural talent?”

  “As natural as a poison ivy rash.”

  “Ew.”

  “You know you love it,” he said with his own sass. “I think we should do that again.”

  “I’m not saying no,” I replied, moving away enough that he got the hint, “but I think we sho
uld take a break. That is, of course, unless you want third-degree burns.”

  My magic was a little too hot, fire sweltering over my skin.

  “Hmmm, I think I’ll pass on that.” He smirked, tucking me under his arm in an attempt to keep me safe or warm or something. I didn’t need any of those, but I wasn’t about to complain. “We’ve had enough death and maiming around here. Let’s give everyone a rest.”

  It was a joke, but I still stiffened underneath him. I still felt that sharp, stabbing pain in my chest, the same one I’d had when they had removed Dramin’s body from the room. The old man had been such a fixture that I couldn’t believe he was now gone.

  Maybe I didn’t want to.

  I wondered how Jos was doing.

  The thought hit me like a ton of bricks, my gut twisting into the dance of the butterflies.

  I needed to see her.

  “I didn’t even get to say good-bye,” Thom began, his arms still tight around me as he pulled me right back to the consuming sadness, the bitter reality smacking me upside the face.

  I hadn’t realized that Thom had been deprived of that moment. It was an unfair truth that tickled my nose. Dammit, I didn’t want to cry.

  “I didn’t expect to wake up to this,” he choked out with tears.

  The longing in his voice burned my eyes with grief.

  “To death?”

  He nodded, his hand pressing against my spine, holding me close as he moved his thumb over my skin.

  “To betrayal,” he amended. The word, while harsher, fit a bit more.

  I wrinkled my nose at that, knowing how painful the truth in those words must be to him.

  Thom had woken up to nothing more than a bad dream. Worse still, he had to hear of everything secondhand and accept that his best friend, Sain, had turned on us all. He had to accept that the man Thom had been hidden away with for hundreds of years, the one who was more of a friend than he would like to admit, was gone.

  “We can still say good-bye,” I said, trying not to think of what that really meant. I sat there, letting the silence and the pain in my words linger in the air like a vile perfume, infecting us. Then, with an exaggerated exhale, I twisted against Thom’s chest, wishing there were anywhere else to look other than at empty beds and bloodstained floors.