Page 101 of The Moon Blessed King
‘And if someone dies as a result of this?’
‘Then I will bear that guilt, just as you already do.’
Elician flinches and looks away. Here, Lio had crawled from his grave because Elician had raised him from the dead. Here, the origins of the plague truly began. ‘I would never wish that guilt upon you.’
‘And yet, I would take it still. We are not gods, who are free to exist without reprisal. The guilt will guide us. Change us, and one day – make us into something new. It is how we learn.’
Elician reaches out. He drapes one arm around Alest’s shoulders, pulling the smaller man to his side. Alest goes willingly, tucking his head in a familiar position just beneath Elician’s chin. It takes only a small shift to press his lips to Alest’s dark hair. To inhale deep and fill his lungs with the scent of the man he loves.
‘I hate it here, in the palace,’ Alest confesses. ‘I can’t live here…not for ever. Not in this building where so many horrors transpired and each day serves as a reminder of all the wrongs committed on this land.’
‘You don’t have to stay here,’ Elician tells him.
‘Fen asked me what I would do when I took my throne. Wherewould I go. I told her I couldn’t answer her then because I didn’t even know if we’d succeed. But now, here we are, and I don’t know the answer. I cannot stay in Himmelsheim. My people will not tolerate that.’
No, they wouldn’t. Nor should they. Soleb didn’t conquer Alelune; her people didn’t fall in battle to their neighbours. They are not one country. Their borders have not been erased. They are two distinct cultures and people bound by a shared but fragile desire for harmony and nothing more. Having Alest in Soleb, so far removed from his own people, would not endear anyone to this union. Stories and perspectives are what matter to the Alelunen people. Their god’s will – they need to see it live. They need to see it thrive.
‘We’ll make a new palace,’ Elician says. ‘We’ll build a place where the memories don’t hurt.’
‘Where?’ Alest asks him. He still looks so tired and worn down and exhausted by every part of their journey. Realizing he could both give life and take it away was only one drain on Alest’s ability to function. Being a king has taken up all that remained of his energy.
‘Altas. Let’s build a shared home on the Bask, right where we met. A shared commitment, a place we will never fight over. A palace that crosses both borders with a new capital city that’s shared between our countries. You don’t have to stay here a moment longer than you want to,’ Elician swears to him. ‘I will never force you to live behind these walls. If Death is seeking a change, then let us give her one. And build our new future full of life.’
‘Thank you,’ Alest whispers. He wraps his arms around Elician’s back. He holds him, like if he lets him go he will fall into a deep abyss never to return. ‘Thank you,’ he says again.
Elician kisses his hair one more time. There is nothing more to say.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Elician
They cannot just run away.
Elician wants to with every fibre of his being, with every part of him that is acutely aware of Alest’s increasing misery in Alerae. He wants to just kiss his husband awake, find a wagon, fill it with only a few precious things, then drive it far, far away. If Alest ever gave him permission to do so, he would do it in a heartbeat. But he knows full well that they cannot just disappear.
Letters must be written, orders must be given. And still, across the country, there are Reapers being held underground. Orders have been given to free each conclave from confinement, but they will take time to reach their destinations. It has been, perhaps, Alest’s greatest sacrifice since being named king. ‘I can’t be the one to set them free in person,’ he murmured only once in the quiet of their room. ‘Can I?’ There is too much to do. And each cell group is too far away from one another. But, despite the devastation that that realization brought, Alest continues pushing forward. He focuses on the plague. Some villages are seeing the sick recovering without any Giver or Reaper to care for them. But for those who are still suffering, they come directly to their king:Alest the Chosen. He heals those who come before him, and on days when there are many hopeful faces, Elician helps as well.
The trick of this healing feels like an obvious thing to understand once it’s been pointed out. Elician feels a bit foolish for not having realized in the first place. But that, too, he grudgingly admits, is something the kings of old also failed to understand. He borrowed Marina’s journal at one point, flipping to the pages on Kreuzfurt, hoping to find some clarity. All she had written was that the overuse of power is what led to the plague, and separating the Exalted into Reapers and Givers and from each other had been the only way to ensure such a thing never happened again.
‘They used to argue that I had no place on the battlefield,’ Elician tells Alest one evening when they have some time alone. Alest glances up at him from the pile of papers that has started to accumulate on a desk someone kindly dragged up the spiral stairs of his tower. ‘Marina in particular insisted on it, saying a Giver has no reason to be surrounded by so much death.’
‘Why would they assignherto you and not Zinnitzia then?’ Alest asks.
‘You know, I’m starting to wonder if that wasn’t half the point to begin with. All this talk of tests and lessons, and it’s been going on since before I even really knew what I coulddo.’ Elician sighs. He wanders towards the desk and drapes his arms over Alest’s shoulders. He rests his chin on the top of his husband’s head, peering down at the assorted documents. One scrap of paper catches his eye. It has been folded and refolded many times, but the sketch is still perfect. ‘It’s our cat.’ He grins, kissing Alest’s hair before reaching to inspect the silly drawing.
‘I still like it,’ Alest replies. Then, softly, he says, ‘Do you think I could…touch someone one day?’ Knowing that hecouldgive life to others is one thing. Stopping the instantaneous death that comes from just touching their skin is something else entirely.
Elician doesn’t want to give him false hope, but at the same time he says, ‘You brought Gillage back with a touch.’
‘I focused on it, bringing him back. But if I…if I touchsomething and I’m not focused, will I…’ He trails off, lips twitching unhappily. Elician reaches for one of his hands. He takes it gently in his own and then slowly removes the glove.
Alest’s hands are soft. Even with all his sword training, his hands are still soft and delicate. Elician traces over the skin on his palm. He circles around one knuckle and then the next. ‘If there is one thing I would wish for your kind,’ he murmurs, ‘it’s for you to never have to fear the gifts you’ve been given ever again.’
‘Not everyone will be able to heal others,’ Alest says. ‘Some things…some people may not even want to learn. And if Ididlearn how to touch without…am I still really a Reaper then?’
‘Yes.’ Elician is certain of it. ‘Being a Reaper has defined who you are for almost your entire life, love. Learning how to control your gift soitdoesn’t controlyou…it isn’t losing that part of you. I’m not a Reaper, even if I could kill someone with a thought. You have a culture and an identity that isyours. I can respect and honour that, but I cannot claim the same identity. Do you feel like you’re a Giver now?’
‘No,’ Alest murmurs. ‘Others might, if they learn how to do this. It’s easier being a Giver than a Reaper…even in Alelune.’ For Alelunen Givers need only never tell anyone who or what they are, and no one will ever know. While Reapers are almost always found in the end, unable to keep their abilities a secret for long.
