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CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Elician

S omewhere, someone cooks something that smells like childhood. He does not know what it is. It is warm and savoury. He can imagine the taste on his tongue. People are talking. They sound happy. Beloved voices making noises that speak only of joy and relief.

It is a good sound.

He thinks it might be real, but he must be asleep.

For once, it is a good dream.

Elician finally wakes to the sound of a fire crackling. He is lying on something almost unbearably soft. He isn’t used to it. The room around him is simple and neat. There is a desk to one side where sheets of paper with anatomical drawings have been collected and deftly organized. A dresser with a bowl for washing, a blade for shaving and a mirror are on the opposite side of the room. But right in front rests the glorious fire. It burns sweetly, and someone tends to it quietly. Elician thinks it is Lio at first, but as he sits up, he realizes he was wrong.

It is Alest.

The rightful King of Alelune glances back at him, dropping the poker and standing. Alest hands him a glass of water, murmuring his excuses for his presence. ‘Fen wanted to check up on Lio. I told her I’d let her know when you woke.’

‘How is he?’

‘Lio? He’s . . . he’s fine, I guess. He hugged me.’ Alest sounds rather mystified by that – somewhere between fond and uncertain. He touches his shoulder absently, as if recreating the gesture. Elician can imagine Lio wrapping his arms around Alest’s body and pressing his face against Alest’s shoulder to avoid the risk of accidental contact.

‘Were you offended?’ he asks quietly.

‘No,’ Alest replies. ‘I know how your people are now. It was not bad.’

‘He meant no offence,’ Elician insists.

‘I know.’

‘He just . . . he spent a long time in the Reaper cells in Alerae,’ Elician murmurs. ‘We learned about your time there.’ Alest does not respond immediately. Elician sets the water glass to the side. He swings his legs off the side of the bed and sits there, hands between his knees. The silence is eerily familiar. Comforting in a way that it should not be.

Slowly, Alest leans against the wall directly opposite Elician. He lets his back slide down it, keeping his right arm tucked in close as he sits. The bell at his wrist jingles, an obnoxious sound. ‘He didn’t deserve to be caged there,’ he says eventually.

‘None of us did.’ It seems the appropriate thing to say, but Alest only shrugs. Perhaps he sees these words for the platitudes they are. Determining who deserves what never really matters in the end. ‘How long has Adalei been here?’ Elician asks.

‘A few days. She told us her father was going to the Kingsclave. She wasn’t happy.’

‘I doubt she would have been.’ She will be far less happy when she knows the truth of all that unfurled. The news may have already reached her. She wore such striking black earlier, even as evening wear. She was already in mourning. He wonders, too, if she knew the totality of the plans their parents had made for them. He hoped not. It would break her heart. But if she doesn’t know, he will steel himself and stand steady as her informer. She deserves the truth, as much as it will hurt.

Alest glances towards the door, perhaps wondering if he should alert the others that Elician has finally woken up. When he meets Elician’s eyes, he lowers his voice. ‘When you saw me earlier, you called me by my real name. And you called me king.’

‘It’s who you are now,’ Elician agrees quietly. ‘Does Fen know?’

‘She knows,’ Alest says. ‘That first night . . . on Tomestange , do you remember? When we saw the stars, by the campfire . . . I thought I would give it a try, truly being someone else. And it was nice. Being called “Cat”. I liked it, even. Stello Alest of Alelune did not have a good life.’ His accent comes across when he speaks his name. He rolls the l’s in a way that Elician has never managed. ‘Cat just wanted to keep his friends safe.’ His arms draw in now. They wrap around his stomach as he stares down at his knees. ‘That’s something Alest could never do.’

‘You didn’t have a choice, Cat,’ Elician tells him. He laughs a little at the absurdity of the assurance. ‘None of us had many choices, but you least of all.’

‘They said Lord Anslian killed my queen at the Kingsclave.’ The statement is not unexpected. And yet, he still does not call the Queen his mother .

‘Yes.’

Cat hugs himself closer.

‘Can I sit by you?’ Elician asks. The words leave his lips without conscious thought. Cat seems startled too, but then he nods slowly. His brows furrow, and he watches Elician slip from the bed and join him on the floor. Their shoulders press against each other’s. Warmth flares through Elician’s body and he relaxes so suddenly he feels a bit dizzy again from it all.

‘Your father sent us to train with a physician, Elena Morsen—’

‘Morsen?’

Cat’s nose scrunches. He tilts his head just a little. He almost looks like his namesake in the picture books Elician had as a child. The effect is oddly endearing. ‘Yes? She said she knew you. That she treated Adalei when she was younger, and you had met—’

‘I do know her. I just . . . didn’t remember her last name.’ He presses his hands to his face. ‘When I was in Alelune, a man named Jonan Morsen helped break Lio and me out of the city.’

‘He’s her husband?’

‘Yes . . . and he told me about his wife too. I should have realized.’

‘You were tired. Hurt.’ He was tired. Hurt. ‘You still are.’ Elician huffs at the quiet evaluation.

‘Yes, I guess I still am,’ he admits wearily, but continues. ‘Jonan Morsen was Ranio Ragden’s apprentice.’ Cat winces at the name. He stares down at the floor. ‘Whatever happened that day was not your fault,’ Elician says vehemently.

‘I killed Fen’s father,’ Cat refutes.

‘On purpose?’

‘Does it matter?’

‘It might.’

‘I never told her.’

‘It was not your fault,’ Elician repeats.

‘You weren’t there; you don’t know what happened.’ There are dozens of questions that Elician could ask as a follow-up. Dozens of ways he could poke and prod at Cat’s story. He sees Cat brace for those questions too, awaiting judgement.

‘Cat. Was it on purpose?’ Elician asks.

Sea-green eyes blink up at him, and the King whispers, ‘No.’ Elician takes Cat’s hand in his. He holds it in his palm. ‘I fell forward, touched his horse. It died and Ranio broke his neck in the fall.’

‘It was an accident.’

‘It only happened because I was there.’

‘It wasn’t your fault,’ Elician repeats. ‘But that doesn’t make the pain any less poignant. I’m sorry that things happened the way they did. You deserved a better life.’

‘You’re sad.’ Cat’s voice pitches strangely. Confused, perplexed, uncertain. He frowns and Elician nods, leaning his head against the wall and looking up at the ceiling.

‘I’m very sad. For a lot of reasons,’ he murmurs.

Cat shifts. Turns. Kneels so he is facing Elician directly. He touches Elician’s face, cupping his cheek. Cat’s skin feels warm , warmer than anything Elician had felt in the long months of isolation. ‘You cannot kill me, remember?’ Elician asks, leaning into the touch. ‘Though the thought of death seems almost preferable to the mess we’re in.’

‘Elena taught us biology . . . anatomy,’ Cat replies, somewhat illogically. ‘Science. She taught us much about science. And . . . we learned that hormones and neurotransmitters affect emotion. I can kill, or stop, the biological process that’s causing you to feel so sad,’ Cat murmurs. ‘I can block the neurotransmitters that are hurting you. I read about it in a book; I know what I would need to kill to—’

‘You can be that specific? That targeted?’ It sounds unbelievably complex, what Cat is offering.

‘Elena . . . she taught us to look at the small, not the whole. Once I understood the theory, I taught myself the rest.’

‘All life is sacred,’ Elician murmurs absently. Cat does not seem to understand, but Elician does not expect him to do so. ‘Have you been working on me now?’ he asks. ‘Keeping me calm?’ If he has, it might explain why he feels no panic at the idea, no anger at the intrusion. He supposes that would be most natural. Cat is offering to manipulate how his body feels. That should be alarming. But Cat looks horrified at the notion of adjusting Elician’s biological processes without his permission. He recoils, pulling away so fast that Elician chases after him, catching his soft hand and holding it close. ‘You’re not like your brother at all, are you?’ Elician asks quietly. ‘Somehow, despite everything, you’re kind.’

‘You were kind to me once, when we first met,’ Cat replies.

‘Was it kindness?’ Elician had captured him, bound him, abducted him and imprisoned him in a gilded cage far from home.

‘I thought so,’ Cat murmurs. His head shifts a little, just enough for Elician’s attention to fall to Cat’s unblemished cheek. With his free hand, Elician very slowly reaches up to touch it. To rest his palm against Cat’s smooth skin, mirroring Cat’s former gesture. And Cat, in turn, mirrors his response. His eyes flutter. His head tilts, leaning into the touch as he breathes deeply. Serene, at peace, and calm beneath Elician’s hand.

‘Who did it?’ Elician asks him, stroking his thumb back and forth over Cat’s cheek. ‘Who healed—’

‘Fen,’ Cat says. Somehow, it does not surprise Elician at all. ‘She’s . . . brilliant, when she doesn’t think too hard.’ That makes Elician smile. He slowly lets his hand drop and Cat meets his eyes again. Patient, calm. So unlike their first meeting.

‘I’m happy for you,’ Elician says. ‘You deserve to be happy.’

It is nice being here, like this. Sitting in the quiet, talking to someone, perhaps the only person in the world who understands the full depth of his anguish. He and Alelune’s true heir both have their own personal traumas, but somehow Elician’s story has always been intertwined with Cat’s. Right from the very beginning.

His imaginary friend, finally made real.

They hold each other’s hands. They breathe the same air. ‘I killed Gillage’s father,’ Cat says. Or perhaps, he explains . Perhaps this is Cat’s attempt at some kind of justification. Perhaps this is the way he has excused all the horrors that have been done to him. Gillage could be cruel because Cat had killed someone important in his life. His happiness didn’t matter.

‘You were a child,’ Elician says. Cat frowns, dissatisfied with the response. Perhaps he wanted condemnation. Perhaps he wanted to frighten Elician away, scare him from the truth that Elician had seen with his own eyes.

‘You are quick to forgive me for murdering people. Are murderers always excused based on their age, in Soleb?’

‘You did not murder that man. He tried to kill you .’

‘I dove into that river. It was my fault.’

‘He was meant to protect you. He let you drown.’

‘Meant to or not, I was the one who dove,’ Cat repeats vehemently. ‘It was my fault.’

Elician squeezes Cat’s hand. He changes the topic. ‘Gillage will be a terrible king.’

This time, Cat does not hesitate. He answers with a calm, ‘Yes,’ but offers no additional thoughts. If he were anyone else, Elician might suspect that Cat was disinterested, but he cannot be. Cat has proven himself incapable of true passivity when it comes to the political turmoil between their two nations. He refused to kill Aliamon. He stayed with Fen after his true identity had been revealed.

‘There’s no law saying you cannot ascend to the throne. Not in Alelune. Your existence was still acknowledged by your mother in the end. She even called you her heir.’

‘I am no king,’ Cat refutes.

‘Brielle thinks you are.’

Cat’s head suddenly snaps up and his fingers grip Elician’s in a brutally tight squeeze. His free hand grabs Elician’s shoulder. ‘Brielle? Brielle, is she all right?’

‘She’s fine,’ Elician replies. ‘Or she was when I left her. I tried to free her . . . I unlocked her cage. I tried to get her and the others to leave with me, but they wouldn’t. Believe me.’ Elician sits up, covering Cat’s free hand with his own. ‘I tried . I swear to you. I asked, and she said . . . she said that they’re waiting for you. For their – their stello . They would only move at your command. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for that.’

Tears form in the corners of Cat’s eyes. His grip loosens, but Elician still holds their hands steady. He keeps them together, the burden nothing at all to bear. Not compared to the weight of a crown. The weight of the crown he knows he is offering Alest-who-wishes-only-to-be-Cat.

‘There are hundreds of Reapers in Alelune. The ones in Alerae are the majority, but not the entirety. Aside from them , none would know me. None would recognize me. And the people – they hate and fear our kind. They would not accept me.’

‘But Gillage is a monster,’ Elician says.

‘Gillage is a monster,’ Cat agrees. His shoulders slump forward. His head bows. ‘I do not know how to be a king. I . . . I do not know if I can be their king.’

But if he isn’t, Elician knows for certain that one day, Gillage will get overthrown. It’s only a matter of time. Someone will replace him. And then someone will replace her. And on and on it will go. The country locked in a civil war as families fight for the chance to reign.

‘I do not know if I can be the king my people deserve either,’ Elician confesses. Sea-green eyes peer up from under dark brows. Cat’s frown is palpable. His uncertainty at Elician’s words verges on disbelieving, and Elician says, ‘What my father . . . what my uncle did, I cannot make those choices. I cannot do what they did. But if that’s what it means to lead . . . how can I ensure I uphold the principle that all life is sacred? When no matter what choice I make, someone is hurt? If all life is sacred, then doesn’t the good of the many outweigh that of the few? Aren’t I—’ Elician breaks off. ‘Shouldn’t I be willing to sacrifice more?’ His chest has started to ache. Pain blossoms in his brain again. He pulls one hand away from their desperate clasp to rub his aching temples.

Cat watches, his gaze serious, and says, ‘I can help.’ Elician hesitates, then nods. Slowly, the pain stops as Cat had promised. Elician’s heart slows. Even so, he now feels exhausted and drained. Like he had been crying for hours and then came to an abrupt halt. He breathes in, breathes out. For all that he has calmed, he is keenly aware that it came as an enforced peace. ‘I don’t know how to do this,’ Elician admits.

‘Elena says, to heal a wound, you need to start small.’

It is on the tip of his tongue to reply that a war is nothing like a wound. He does not. A war is exactly like a wound. A land once whole is separated by chaos and blood. The various armies fight each other like platelets and germs; sometimes they gain ground but sometimes they do not. Sometimes the bacteria wins and the wound festers. The armies fail. The victim dies.

‘I want to go home,’ Elician admits. He waits.

Cat bites his lip, then offers, ‘I want to see Brielle again.’

‘I want to see Adalei and Lio get married.’

‘I want to see Fen show you what she’s learned.’

‘I want the war to end,’ Elician murmurs. ‘Permanently.’

‘Permanently,’ Cat agrees, then: ‘I . . . do not want to be king.’

Elician hates that there is nothing else he can say to that except, ‘Neither do I.’ He wishes there was another life. A simpler life. Where he could just disappear and be of no importance to anyone. But if he walked away into the wilds now and let the world deal with its own consequences, he would regret it for the rest of his very long life. He has to stay. He has to see it through. But gods does it hurt.

‘I read a history book, when I was held captive,’ Elician says. ‘It was the complete history of Alelune. It never said why we had to fight over that damned river. Only that neither country ever wanted to share it, and from there it just became an endless war. A cycle that continued generation after generation, one group laying claim, then the next one. A whole war with no real reason behind it, just two countries wanting to claim a damned river that runs in between them – both too stubborn to let it go.’

Cat shifts and stretches as he sits, but their hands remain clasped tight. ‘Perhaps that’s what our people have in common,’ he suggests.

‘Fighting against the unknown of peace, because at least war is familiar?’

‘Why not?’

Elician lets his eyes fall to their hands. The tangled mess of their union. Giver and Reaper. Sun and Moon. Soleb and Alelune. Life and Death. ‘All life is sacred,’ Elician murmurs one final time. Even those who hate and condemn my people. Even those who live in an enemy nation. Alelune does not deserve the chaos his father set up for them. Elician shifts, straightening and resecuring his grip on Cat. ‘I . . . had this idea that one day I could parlay with the Stello of Alelune, that I could negotiate a peace that would ensure our countries no longer had cause to quarrel. I dreamed that I would go to Kreuzfurt and throw open the doors. That all those in the Houses of the Wanting and Unwanting would be free to choose the lives they wanted and would not be separated or . . .’ He tugs at the tie around Cat’s wrist. The bell falls to the ground. ‘Or treated like criminals simply because they exist.’

‘We would need an open border and there could be no restrictions on the river . . .’ Cat murmurs. ‘And both sides would need time to get used to doing better – they’d need the opportunity to fail, the opportunity to try again, and the opportunity to one day succeed at peace.’

Elician can picture it. Ships flying both flags sailing freely along the river. Commerce. Trade. Possibility. Respect for a place both countries loved, and a desire for both sides to provide and prosper. The doors of the Houses of the Wanting and Unwanting thrown open. No more locked doors, simply lives given freedom for the first time.

‘It will take lifetimes to make true peace between Alelune and Soleb. But . . . never before has a member of either royal family been god-chosen . And here we both are, Cat.’

‘Here we are,’ Cat agrees.

‘If I have to spend the rest of my life making sure that every single person I meet can have the life they deserve to live, it will be worth it.’

‘It’s a good dream.’

‘Would you accept the crown of Alelune, on this basis?’ Elician rubs his thumb back and forth across Cat’s knuckles. ‘Would you take that crown, and lead your country, your entire country, and ensure that peace could last?’

Cat does not answer for a long time. He stays still, holding Elician’s hands. He stares at their interlocking fingers, squeezes them gently, and says in soft Lunae, ‘Not alone.’ When he meets Elician’s eyes, he almost looks like he did when they first met, nearly two years ago. Vulnerable and afraid. ‘I will not return to Alelune alone. Not for ever. Not to rule permanently. But if you swear you’d go with me, that I would not be there by myself . . . I would do it if I wasn’t alone.’

‘I swear,’ Elician murmurs in the foreign tongue. ‘If we do this, if we want to do this well – we will do this together, every step of the way.’

‘Alelune will never accept joining as one with Soleb. We cannot be one nation.’

‘No,’ Elician agrees. ‘But we don’t have to be. One union between the two would be a start. Then one treaty. Then . . .’

‘Peace.’ Cat leans closer. His breath comes quick.

‘Peace,’ Elician agrees.

‘And all of us will be free, when we are done – the Reapers underground and in the House of the Unwanting?’

‘All of us.’

‘Do you mean it? Truly? ’ He can feel Cat’s pulse. His passion. His belief. The determination here that, a few years ago, Elician never would have thought possible. But this is the man Brielle insisted would come to free them. The man that the Reapers in Alerae wait for still. The man the gods built for this purpose, just as they built Elician.

‘Yes,’ he says. ‘I swear to you, if you take that crown, I will do everything in my power to ensure that there will be peace eternal between our lands. And I swear . . . I will never leave you to face that burden alone.’

Slowly, Cat raises their hands to his lips. ‘Then I swear an oath to you, Elician, King of Soleb. And I bind my life to yours.’

Elician leans forward, kissing Cat’s knuckles in turn – and sealing the promise on both ends. ‘My life is yours too, Alest, King of Alelune.’

Cat’s eyes catch a flicker, to their left. He gasps. Elician turns too. Outside, shooting stars are flying across the sky in breathtaking, streaking bursts without end. It marks the moment their fractured houses quietly join as one.