Page 27 of The Moon Blessed King
From all that was joy and sad
Change now to a well-loved form
Take shape and know we will not mourn
Be that which you longed to be And know I loved you, verily
I will celebrate the time we had
And celebrate the time you’ll have
I will celebrate what you’ll become
Until one day I too succumb.
‘I was going to save her,’ Cat whispers, voice hoarse from hours of singing the same song over and over again. Hours of sitting in their place beside their bed, knees drawn to his chest, head in his hands. He didn’t cry. He didn’t weep. Elician did both, and Cat begged him to stop. To stop or leave him be, and he swallowed back each tear until Cat’s litany ended. Then and only then did Cat let himself be pulled to Elician’s chest. To be held close and shielded from all the world. ‘She suffered so…It was her time. She did what she needed to do. She raised me. She helped Lio survive. She…she ensured I would go back. No matter what.’ It is certain now. Even if it comes to war. There will be no stopping the flow of progress. Elician will not stop until those cells are emptied, and Cat will lead that charge. ‘She deserved more than anyone to be free from that place. She deserved her change.’ Elician braces Cat’s head to his chest. He has no words to say. No words to make it better. He threads his fingers through Cat’s hair. ‘I wish I could have given her the sun. I wishIcould have given her the freedom she deserved.’
‘We’ll give it to the others,’ Elician swears. ‘Every last one of them.’
‘I took too long,’ Cat grieves. They partied. They celebrated. They had a coronation and good food and relaxation. Adalei insisted they needed the time to heal. He agreed. They took that time. And Brielle is dead.
Elician cannot say if that was a mistake. He just holds Cat to him. ‘It will never happen again,’ he swears. ‘You will go back to Alerae. You’ll face Death in judgement. And your people will be free.’
‘How are we even going to get there?’
Anger coils through Elician. Sharp and putrid and filled with all the burning fires of vengeance. ‘One step at a time, stoppinganyonewho stands in our way.’
‘I can’t slaughter a country to free only a few.’
‘You’re a better man than most,’ Elician replies. ‘But it won’t come to that. I will find a way. If I have to parlay for every Reaper inAlelune to be traded to Soleb and relinquish control of all of Altas for ever more to see it done – your people will be free.’ Cat jerks back. He braces himself against Elician’s shoulders, staring at him with an expression of stunned wonder.
‘You’d relinquish Altas and the Bask for my Reapers?’
‘If I cannot give you a crown, I promise you this: one way or another, Alest, your peoplewillbe free.’ Elician presses his lips to Cat’s brow. Searing his promise into Cat’s skin. Then he pulls Cat back to his chest and tries to summon up thoughts of proposals and counterproposals. He fails spectacularly, no plans lingering for more than seconds at a time. Because all his attention is on Cat. Holding him close and making sure he knows that he meant what he said on the day they made their vows.
Now and ever more: Cat will not be facing these horrors alone.
The door to their chambers is thrown open. It slams hard against the stone wall, noise shattering through the room. Cat flinches back, flying from where he’d been curled against Elician’s chest – safe and warm and free from fear or judgement. Elician whirls about, vile words on his tongue.
It is not Fen, who so often barges in to get their attention. It’s Zinnitzia. The words stay locked into place as she rushes towards them. ‘A messenger has arrived from Altas,’ Zinnitzia says. She holds out a hand and jerks Elician up to his feet. Cat is already rising. ‘He said the city fell.’
That’s impossible.
He has just made his promise.
‘We’ve held that city for nearly two decades,’ he says, senseless as she steps back and hurries them towards the door.
They run.
They run back to the throne room. Lio, Adalei and Fen meet them in the hall. Fen tries to call out to Cat but he doesn’t answer her. They enter together; Marina is already inside. The boxes and Brielle’s head are gone, and in their place is a man drenched in sweat.
Someone has procured him a glass of water, but it stays undrunk in his trembling hands. Dirt stains his armour and skin. His black hair is wild in the dim light of day. ‘Y-Your Majesty—’ He tries to bow, but he is holding the glass. It splashes as his hand comes swiftly to his chest, spreading liquid all down his front.
Cat, still barely emerged from the grief of his own horror, asks Marina: ‘May we get him a chair?’ She nods curtly and barks an order at a servant.
‘No – no, I don’t need it,’ the man sputters. The glass slips from his hand. It shatters but he hardly notices. ‘It’s Altas. Altas, sir, Your Majesty,sire, it—’
A chair has been produced. It’s placed behind him; he pays it no mind. He keeps blinking, mouth floundering as nonsense words slip between his teeth. Cat presses his gloved hand to the man’s shoulder and gently pushes him down. As soon as he sits, the messenger’s face clears, his attention steadies. Elician recognizes the reaction. Cat did something similar to him once. Forcing him into a steady state of calm when anxiety and terror were too much by killing off the hormones that were causing the reaction to begin with.
