Page 73 of Shadows and Flames (Twin Blades #2)

Chapter Forty-Three

ELIáN

W e walked the Ralthan Forest, hand in hand, while we led our mares along the overgrown path.

I knew the way like I knew my name, though I’d not been back to Papá’s small home in many years.

While I had suggested we spend the night at the inn on the main road, with its hot meals and bustling business, here we were.

I paid someone to check in on the home monthly, cleaning and notifying me of any repairs necessary. I could never bear to lease it out, though.

“This—his house is this way?” Meline whispered, her words mixing with the shuddering of the fiery, balding trees above.

One of the things I enjoyed most about Ralthas was the visible change in seasons, marking time and providing distinct experiences, celebrations.

Zonoras was different, time stretching as far as the endless stretch of sand and rock.

The forest was temperate, just as the one where my queen and I walked, starting our new beginning.

“Yes. It’s not much further.” The sun was almost fully set, now, and the barest hint of orange hung over the treetops, lighting the way.

A wind coursed around us, rustling the land and the hair near my face.

Before I had decided to stop us in Ralthas, only derailing our journey by an hour or so, I had dressed in one of the shawls my father had woven for me, more than a century ago.

It was more decoration than anything, providing additional warmth I did not need.

But the vibrant stripes in red, blue, and white filled me with pangs of emotion.

Too complex for me to try and put words to, so I just swallowed them, let the feelings settle in my stomach while the knotted fringe along the edges swayed with my steps.

My fingers were not as skilled as Papá’s had been, but perhaps I could make one. For my queen.

More of those throat-tightening memories threatened to sweep me under as we drew closer. The faint clops of our horse’s steps punctuated the count down until we were there. Standing on the path leading to my father’s home.

Moss covered the stone in patches, but the windows had recently been washed.

The interior was dark, of course, and the greenery surrounding was a bit overgrown.

But Papá had liked that, enjoyed feeling surrounded by nature to the point of almost being suffocated by it.

So, I instructed the home’s carer, a gentle Lylithan who lived closer to town, to only trim what was necessary.

The cottage consisted of three bedrooms, a living area, and a kitchen.

Simple and small, even though it had seemed so large when I was a boy.

With what felt like the whole world around it.

Zonoras was nothing but flattened desert, now, so I clung to this, my childhood home, as much as my and Leandro’s apartment.

I started forward, bringing with me the horse named Saffron, until I noticed an absence at my side. I stood between the mouth of the path and the front door. Meline was gazing to the left, where oak and maple trees cloaked the land beyond.

Her mauve tunic was loose, fluttering in the evening breeze while her leather trousers hugged her thighs. The curls that had been short and slicked to her scalp were now long enough to spring around her ears and temples.

“The house where…” Meline swallowed, and pointed west. “That way.” The Ralthan River was a distant rush, a shudder filling the voice of the forest. Another song that colored my memories, like the howling wind rustling the tent fabric of my mother’s home.

I looked where Meline was pointing, fear and the familiar gnawing sadness clawing at the underside of my ribs. “We can set down our things and feed the horses. And you will show me?” Because now, such grief could be shared.

She faced me, eyes shimmering with more than the gold I had grown used to, and nodded.

When I fished out the key to Papá’s home and let us inside, stale air filled my lungs like dry cloth, and the protective barrier allowed me and Meline, my guest, to pass.

I went to the windows, pushing them open to let out the musty air that had been trapped within since the carer was here last. Then, I went to the freshly cleaned hearth stacked with fresh logs.

Releasing fire from my palms provided more relief, like a large sigh in the depths of my soul, and when I stood, I took in not just Papá’s home, but my queen within it.

Certainly, my father had others within its walls besides him, Leandro, and me, but I was never present for that. Even Mamá did not visit, electing to remain in the arid lands of Savya, the continent where we’d been born.

Still, there were touches of Zonoras in the very Ralthan home.

Heavy wood craftsmanship shown in the table set to the right, beside a large window that overlooked the woods behind the house.

The dark floors were clean, as was the Zonoran rug sprawling the length of the living area.

Its shades of crimson reflected that of the flames, as did the oranges of the tapestry hanging behind the sofa.

Cushions were neatly stacked beside it, accommodating for my brother and me who had picked up the Zonoran custom of sitting on the floor.

“It smells like you in here,” Meline whispered reverently, looking around what was so familiar to me. I’d not changed anything when my father and brother were killed, so it was the same as it had been before and yet irreversibly changed. A tomb.

Or, so I had thought for many years. With someone else in it, with her in it, it felt more again. Like a home.

“It does?”

She nodded, stepping closer and keeping her movements measured, as if she did not want to disturb anything, even the empty spaces. “Yes. Although,” she sniffed purposefully, “it smells more strongly of the oak in your scent. Tilled soil and cool water.”

I smiled, let my eyes fill. “That’s Papá.”

Though mine hadn’t, Meline’s tears fell into two, faint tracks. She did not try to wipe them away. “What was his name?”

My heart thudded heavily in my chest. “Emmett.”

Meline took another step closer to me, now in reaching distance. Her gaze softened. “Emmett and Elián.”

My smile was sad. Grateful. For her. “Sê.”

She did reach out to me, then. After quickly pulling off her gloves, Meline took my jaw in hand, tugging lightly while pressing up on her toes. She kissed me with closed lips and love pulsing from her into me. “é vahmo, El. Gravas.” She kissed me again while I focused on remaining upright.

The first part of our ride to the Well was an amalgamation of silence and stories. Tales of her life, mine, and the one we had lost and were trying to create together.

And lessons in Zonoran, when I would say simple phrases, translate, and practice with her. The language of Ralthas was the common tongue, so the weight of her speaking to me in my first language, of telling me she loved me, was almost too much for me to hold. To contain.

“é vahmo, mé relanha. But you do not need to thank me.”

“Yes, I do.” But she did not elaborate on what, and I decided I did not need her to.

Words were still difficult for me at times, and we both still struggled with not using them as weapons and shields.

Sometimes, the absence of them spoke much more clearly.

When we would speak our son’s name, and the long shared pause, staring ahead, was enough.

When we would pant into each other’s mouths, eyes locked and bodies joined.

When she drew a grin from me and would gift me with one of hers.

We placed our things in the spare room, where I had long ago brought a bed for when I could bring myself to stay here. Papá’s room and the one I’d shared with Leandro remained as they’d been since the day they left this realm.

The two of us emerged, walking past Saffron and Amber as they grazed the foliage in front of the house.

The forest was quiet for us, yet lively at the same time. What fauna was awake, scuttled under the dying light of day, and nocturnal predators prowled in the darkness. Wolves, wild cats, and scavengers were common in this area, and my awareness of all of it ran in the background of my thoughts.

After some time, walking along the length of the river that was just hidden from view but audible, Meline stopped us again.

This cottage was newer than Papá’s, though we were watching it through the shield of mature tree trunks.

Someone was in it, evident by the electric lights glowing from within.

Papá never had modernized to have them installed in his home.

And with Leandro and I around often, he had often stated he had no use for it.

Faintly, I could hear the sounds of a family within its walls. The excited babbling of two children, maybe three. The tired laughs of their parents.

Meline’s breaths were fast, and her hand rubbed at the center of her chest. I had no connection to the cottage directly, only with her, but through that, I could feel the pain.

The longing. Missing what could have been, she had said.

And was that not the most overwhelming shade of grief? Letting go of a nebulous hope?

She did not linger long, though I would have stood all evening with her, should she have needed it. But, she led us away, toward the calm roar of the river.

Meline took us to a cluster of boulders, flat and smoothed where people had most likely sat for centuries, and the deftness in which she crossed her legs, tucking them toward her, showed she had been one of them.

I took the edge, mimicking her posture and following her gaze to the running water. It was dark, this time of night, lapping obscured by the fading light.

Fabric rustled, and I turned my attention back to her, where Meline was pulling the small, gold box from her pocket I’d since given back to her. Flowers were etched into the surface, and when she opened the clasp, a telltale, pungent scent hit my nostrils.

She took one of the tight rolls, fitting it between her plump lips. Meline flicked a glance to the river as she fished in another pocket, unable to find what she was looking for.

I extended my first finger, calling the drop of flame forth and watched as it illuminated her freckled cheeks. Made her eyes twinkle.

My queen smirked around the joint, not even needing to thank me, and leaned over to light it on my Flame. Smoke wound into the night, reaching toward the branches arcing over us, red flaring with each inhale she took.

She pinched the end between two black fingers, dangled her foot over the water, and extended the joint toward me.

Her eyes widened as she angled her lips to exhale away from us and watched as I took the joint, brought it to my own lips.

The taste was not as bad as I thought it would be, though not as satisfying as the pipes I took to smoking with Mamá.

It sent heat down my throat, stoking the Fire that always lived within the depths of me.

“I thought it was a disgusting habit?”

I pushed the smoke smoothly through my nostrils, letting it unfurl around me. Most of the time, I did not like being out of control—lapses of imbibing to excess notwithstanding.

I shrugged and took another drag of the joint, noticing the minute relaxation of my spine. “You rattled my nerves at the time. Everything you did unsettled me.”

Meline tsked and snatched the joint from me, taking a frustrated pull before stubbing it out on the stone between us.

“You were a testy asshole, you mean.” But the admonishment held no malice, and the hash smoothed any barb I would normally lob her way.

Maybe, had I accepted the way she affected me and also not been on duty, we would have had moments like this. Companionable, affectionate silence.

That was, until my queen began to hum. Through our recent travels, I caught her making the sound, though when anyone came close enough to hear, she would stifle the song and whatever she had been thinking at the time.

Now, though, she let it wind between us while she sat with eyes closed, wrinkle forming between her brow and humming over the river.

Could one’s heart clench and soar at the same time? As if its wings were beating fast and hard? I closed my eyes, too, as my queen went through the fragments of the lullaby.

“ And I am with you. Loving you. For all the days we have and after,” I picked up the end of the chorus. Of one of the many lullabies Mamá would sing to my brother and me, then with us as we grew old enough to join her. When my twin would be loud, and my words would come out smooth.

I fluttered my lashes open as my singing traded for the galloping of her heart, the whistling of her breathing. “El— how ?”

More slowly, I sang the words to her from the beginning.

“ My love, there is no world in which I will not protect you. You can count the grains of sand, and you will still not reach the end of my caring for you. I will be with you always, even when my soul is returned to the air in your lungs. Even when you must dance and sing without me. I am with you. Loving you. For all the days we have and after.” The slow, deep melody lilted with the tones that were characteristic of no other place but Zonoras.

Banfian songs came close, but the blend of melancholy and devotion was of my people.

A promise and a prayer I’d sang over my queen every day, every hour, in the time before she awoke with the scar now on her spine.

Again, the last line of the song echoed into the night, over the water where she spread the ashes of our son. Of Soleil. And though I wept, I hoped the words were clear enough to reach him.

“You—” Meline cleared her throat “—you have a beautiful voice, El.”

I smiled through my tears. “Gravas, mé relanha.” I had been told so before, that I had a gift for song like my mother. But the compliment was much more, coming from her.

“And you…I heard it. I’d just not realized it was you.

” Meline sniffed, rubbing at her eyes and scooting closer to me.

I opened my arms, giving space she slotted into perfectly.

“I don’t understand the words, but I feel them.

Here.” She placed my hand on her heart, then landed hers on mine.

Somehow, they beat in time. “And I used to hum it to Soleil. Every day .”

I buried my nose in her hair, catching the whiff of him on her. Of the love she felt for him, of the home she created for him.

“I will teach you the words. And we will sing it to him. To each other.”

Meline kissed the base of my throat, over where my pulse beat for her in this peaceful moment we were able to steal away. Where we did not have to stand alone in our hurt.

“Sê. Mé Zombro.” My Shadow.