“I am losing myself. Piece by bloody piece,” he whispered. “And you have to let me go. Jeru needs a queen. Someone who is strong and wise and powerful.”
That is not me.
“Of course it is. I knew it the moment I met you.”
No! It isn’t. I have all this power, but I can’t save you.
The ice that shielded me, that made me strong, began to drip, drip, drip and stream down my face, and Tiras laid his cheek against mine, pressing my head into his shoulder and holding me tight.
You chose me because I am of use. But I chose you because I wanted you. All I ever wanted was for you to love me in return.
He froze, and when he pulled away and peered down at me, it was all I could do not to open a hole in the earth and climb into it. His eyes gleamed in the gathering twilight, and he began to shake his head, rejecting my words.
He brushed the pad of his thumb against my cheek ever-so-softly then jerked his hand away, curling his talons against his palm. Without comment, he sheathed his hand in his glove once more and spurred Shindoh forward, as if words failed him. They had failed us both.
“I need to show you something up there.” Tiras pointed up the narrowing road before us that led to the jutting cliffs and shallow caves that made up the eastern perimeter of Degn. No wall was required here. Jeru City nestled at the base of the hills, sitting on a huge plateau that dropped off again beyond the western wall before descending to sea level and the settlement of Nivea on the outskirts.
I eyed the cliffs and the steepness of the path. It will be dark soon.
“I won’t leave you . . . not yet. And Shindoh knows the way.”
He did, and he climbed steadily, impervious to our weight. Within a quarter of an hour, Tiras veered off the trail at a jutting overlook. The city lay below us, the shadows muting the colors, the wintery light softening the edges and the angles. The castle turrets and towers gleamed, the green flags echoing the color of the evergreen trees that crowded the wall like faithful sentinels.
He slid off Shindoh and pulled me down with him, tethering the horse to a nearby tree and finding a seat among the rocks that peppered the overlook.
“This was my father’s favorite spot,” Tiras said quietly, as we gazed at the shimmering city below us.
I stiffened beside him, not wanting to talk about King Zoltev. He brushed the back of his hand against my chest, as if to soothe my heart, to apologize for bringing his father’s memory to my mind. But he didn’t stop.
“He would sit right here and look down over his city and vow that no one would ever take it from him. That is what he feared the most. Everyone was a threat.”
So he removed anyone with any power that might prove greater than his own.
“Yes,” Tiras whispered. “He did.”
You fear losing Jeru as well. My words were sharper than I intended.
“Not for the reasons you think,” he murmured, taking no offense. “I don’t fear someone will take Jeru from me. I worry that I won’t protect her.”
For a moment neither of us spoke, watching the shadows lengthen and connect as the day came to an end. The castle sconces were lit, and light began to flicker from homes and watch-towers, making the city glow.
“Do you know how he died, Lark?” Tiras asked.
I realized suddenly that I didn’t. King Zoltev had killed my mother, and three years later he ceased to exist. I was only eight at the time, but Boojohni had taken my hand in his and told me the king was dead, that he couldn’t hurt me anymore. I’d had ongoing nightmares about him, about his sword and my mother’s blood, and his death was an enormous relief to the entire keep.
I’d gone to my mother’s turret, closeting myself with her things. For the first time since her death, I’d made poppets and tried to will them to dance and climb and fly. I thought with the king’s death, maybe my words would come back, that I would no longer have to be silent. But my poppets had remained as still and lifeless as my mother’s body on the cobblestones, and my inability to speak had persisted.
No. I don’t know how he died.
“He killed himself. Right here. Kjell was with him along with several members of the guard. They said he just . . . jumped. We never found his body.”
You will trade your soul and lose your son to the sky.
My mother’s words rose in my mind, and I knew Tiras heard them.
“What did he trade his soul for?” he whispered. “I’ve never understood why he killed himself when he never felt remorse or guilt. Everything my father has done—even his death—has filled me with guilt.”
How are you responsible for his death?
“I thought perhaps my gift drove him to it.” Tiras swung his gaze to mine, and he didn’t look away. “I have spent the last fifteen years trying to be everything he was not. A good king. A fair ruler. A just man.”
You are all those things.
Tiras shook his head, disagreeing with me, our eyes still clinging in the murky light.
“I am more like my father than I thought. He wronged you, and I have wronged you. I have taken you from your home. I have used your gifts. I have taken your will and spent myself in your body. I have given you worry and fear and responsibility. I have taken. Endlessly. And you have given endlessly. I only wanted to save my country. I told myself, ‘I’m doing it for Jeru.’ That’s what my father always said when he did something terrible.”
Bile rose in my throat, the taste of rejection, and I shot to my feet. I moved away from Tiras, from the rocky ledge, needing a moment to prepare myself for what he was surely building up to. But he followed me.