Page 40 of The Moon Blessed King
His husband answers, ‘Because you are waiting for everyone to die around you, I can see it. You are terrified of loving anyone more than you already do. And if they know your feelings, and if they help you,you are terrified of one day no longer having them there to help you again. And so you are doing everything you can to avoid pain you are fully expecting to come true.’
‘My father always told me showing fear would make people doubt my legitimacy.’ He laughs once. ‘He always knew I’d be a bad king.’
‘You saved thirty-seven thousand, four hundred and twelve people from a death none of them deserved. Name me one king who has personally done more than you.’
‘What does any of that matter?’
‘It matters a lot to those thirty-seven thousand, four hundred and twelve people.’ One of Cat’s hands nudges awkwardly at his left cheek, just over where the black scar marking him as a Reaper has long since been healed. ‘I never liked your father.’
‘I liked yours,’ Elician counters. ‘I met him once.’
‘Did you?’
‘Only once, after my uncle took him hostage during the Compromise. He wanted to go home to you.’
‘He was a good man. Yours was not.’ Cat never lets him deviate from the point. Every time Elician has ever tried to distract or change the topic from the complicated or the uncomfortable, Cat forces him back on track. He is militant in his persistence. ‘Your father lectured you on fear, then made you afraid to ever be who you truly are, where every word you said or action you took risked untold horrors, and every relationship had to be met with suspicion. He had the gall to tell you not to be afraid or seek help for your fears when he was the cause of all of them. Why should I be angry with you for acting in a way that is wholly expected?’
Elician is an egg, crashed against the side of a bowl. His hard exterior cracked and fractured, torn and peeled back to force the viscous slime of his soul out into the harsh breath of the world. He lies open, exposed, left to be whisked and scattered and reformed into something new, and his eyes burn with tears he is not meant to shed and yet fall despite themselves. He hates, and he does not hate. Hefears, and yet he yearns. ‘Have you always seen me for who I am?’ Elician asks. It has only been a few months. A few months together – where every other loved one in his life has had years to know him fully. Perhaps they do. Perhaps their concern has been hidden in their desire to support his attempts at remaining the person they’ve always known him as. Perhaps their worry has simply been expressed in kisses on his cheeks, in holding his hands, in the lack of protest at his words when protest was desperately needed.
‘You’re not very complicated,’ Cat tells him. It startles another laugh from Elician. ‘Do you remember the promise I had you make, before I agreed to join our houses, our countries, on your word?’ He did.
‘I won’t leave you to face Alelune and her throne alone.’
‘And if you will not leave me alone, does that not naturally meanyouwill not be alone in turn?’
‘Careful,’ Elician whispers.
Cat leans forward, careless, brave. ‘I will live as long as you. I will serve as long as you. And I will be here, at your side, until the moment you wish me gone. You are not alone, Elician, and what Eline de Carsay did to you was notnothing.’
‘Fuck,’ Elician curses. He folds himself forward. His head drops against Cat’s arm, and Cat holds him, shifting only to hold him close and let him weep.
There are twenty different words for love in Soleben. And in that moment, Elician feels all the ones that matter most.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Cat
Elician and Cat speak of nightmares and daydreams. Of promises given and forgotten. And at last – of what it had been like in the cold, broken room Elician had stayed in during his time at Alerae. Of that bed that made his back ache, his bones burn. Of how Eline de Carsay had come with her knife and her tests and prisoners he never knew, and every word from her mouth had been some derivative offascinating. Then they speak of kinder things, softer things, until sleep latches on to Elician once more and he dips off, still slurring words in an attempt to say more.
In the morning, Cat slips from Elician’s side. He presses his lips to his husband’s brow, a Soleben gesture that he has so often received but has never before had the opportunity to try for himself. He steals it without Elician knowing, pausing only to ensure his husband continues to sleep soundly before leaving in search of food. Fen is already loitering by the inn’s bar, hopped up on a stool with her head in her hands. She has a stack of paper next to her and she’s reading through lines of neatly packed words squeezed in tight to make the most of the space on the page.
‘Fen?’ he calls. She jumps, startled. Whirls towards him. They’re the only ones awake, save the guards watching the floor upstairs.
‘Cat…What are you doing down here? Is Elician all right?’
‘He’s…fine,’ Cat replies. ‘We talked for a long while. He’ll be up later today. What’s all this?’
One of her hands goes to cover what she was writing, but then she seems to think better of it and sighs. She nudges it towards him as he sits at her side. ‘Something Adalei said after that parliament meeting. That I should be doing something that matters. I’ve been writing letters, sending out pamphlets.’
Her script is far neater than his, and small though it is, he’s got better at reading the Soleben alphabet. Fen’s pamphlets are effusive. They celebrate all the lives saved, the respectful management of the city and good work Cat apparently did in calming external tensions. He doesn’t remember being quite as eloquent as she describes, but it is altogether very congratulatory. ‘You’re singing our praises highly.’
‘People are spreading rumours,’ she starts, already on the defensive.
‘And you’re spreading your own.’
‘It’s not a rumour if it’s true.’ There’s something in her tone, sharp and bitter. But as he slides her papers back to him, he tries to settle the spikes and barbs of her emotions.
‘They’re kind words,’ he says. ‘Thank you for doing it.’
