Page 78 of The Moon Blessed King
‘Cieli,’ Fen hisses. ‘You can’t just speak for him. He never said—’
‘I can speak for him,’ she retorts. ‘I know his will. Doyou?’
Fen grits her teeth. She does. She has heard him. Even at the beginning of their friendship, right when he first started to properly speak again, he wasn’t subtle about his thoughts.Kreuzfurt is a prison same as any other. It’s a beautiful prison, but it’s still a prison. There is no freedom there.
She had felt it herself, known it to be true. From the moment she raised that first animal from the dead, and she was slated fortrainingin Kreuzfurt, her lessons were only ever put on hold when the Kingpermitted it. Had she not been adopted by King Aliamon, she would have had no other life. She would have stayed in the House of the Wanting until she was sent on specific assignments for the clerics. She would never have been allowed to have the freedom to leave, to work at court, to try to be something more.
‘There was a report…’ another Reaper says. Fen strains for the name – Ana, maybe? ‘A pamphlet. We found it in Altas before your army came. It talked about Stello Alest.’ Fen’s breath catches. Her fingers twitch, recalling the feeling of her pen late in the night, writing furiously in an attempt to create a narrative that would win Cat the supporters he needs to succeed. ‘It said he’s never broken an oath. Would he make this oath – to free us?’
‘Yes,’ Cieli swears for her king. The Reapers nod. They nod, one by one, like they are receiving the oath directly from Alest himself. Angelo still doesn’t seem very happy, but he swallows back the frustration anyway, grudgingly looking to Gerai.
‘And you?’ Zinnitzia presses Gerai. ‘I don’t supposeyoucan manage to set your pride aside to actually bother attempting to help people like you always seemed to want to do before? Or is learning something new at your advanced age simply too much of a challenge?’
Gerai’s cheeks flush; her nostrils flare. ‘I can do it. Ifhecan.’ And it seems spite just might be enough of a motivator to move them forward. They both reach for the patient who was neglected throughout their argument. And at the very least: they both seem willing to try.
The day is still far from a success.
Someone has died, and they cannot resurrect them. The dead must stay dead. And though they are saving lives, it does not feel like they are doing enough.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Elician
Before they left Altas, Marina had pulled Elician aside. ‘It’s a test,’ she told him. She had glanced over her shoulder, looking at the city they were abandoning for a country that hated them, and nodded once. ‘All of this, from start to finish, is a test constructed by our god, and we areallbeing tested. It will go faster in some cities, slower in others, because all that matters is finding the answer to the test. You’re going to find it, Elician, but for the sake of the people…try to be quick about it.’
Endura was a test. Healing the army and listening to Leferge’s and Partho’s accounting of events was a test. Cat, through it all, was a test. A test on his resolve, on his ability to finally, at last, see if he could open his heart and trust that including one more person in his life would be worth it. And if, in the end, he would be willing to sacrifice that life despite the pain it would cause him. He hoped, wanted, believed – however momentarily – that maybe they could have a life together. And though Cat is adamant they still will, Elician has never been good about letting go of the people he loves.
It is what caused this plague to begin with.
He is, most probably, failing this god’s test.
As they approach the next town, he holds his breath. He half expects it to be the same test as the one that came before. Aslaughtered people, with no chance of resurrection. Punishment in the form of despair. One more horror on a long road that ends with a challenge before the gods that always results in death.Believe in me, Cat whispers to him at night, when they curl against each other. Their bodies intertwined, their hands clasped.Believe in me, he whispers straight to Elician’s soul.
And he tries.
He tries.
They approach the small village of Ines, and Elician smells smoke. He hears movement. He senses life.
He is not the only one relieved. Even as he lets out a long breath of air, tension bleeding from his shoulders, he hears Partho doing the same. Cat – Catsmiles. His lips part in that lovely lopsided grin; he turns to Elician, hopeful and sweet – wanting only to share his joy. And Elician nods to him. Yes. Yes, the people here – at least a good portion of them – are still alive. As with the army, this town’s physicians have risen to the cause and managed to hold the symptoms of the ill at bay. As Cieli said before they left Altas: it isn’t the plague that directly causes death in the end but a lack of sustenance and assistance. So long as that is mitigated…the ill survive. Enfeebled, unable to move, talk or drink on their own – but alive. The army draws close to the village’s edge.
‘I will not help you speak with them,’ Leferge says as Cat climbs from his horse. ‘Convince them of your merit on your own.’
‘Thank you,’ he replies, utterly sincere. Elician goes to join him, but Leferge clears her throat.
‘Do you truly think a Soleben king is going to endear himself to them?’ she asks.
‘I can’t heal them without him,’ Cat replies. ‘So, they will endear what they will.’ She shrugs one shoulder, and intercedes no more as Partho gathers a few men for a light escort.
‘Cat?’ Elician murmurs. His husband is looking straight ahead, directly towards the whitewashed buildings and the people that aremilling about, the fences holding livestock and the banners flapping in the wind.
‘Thank you,’ he says again, so quietly that Elician almost misses it. ‘Thank you for being here, even though you’re scared.’ He tries to smile. Fails. ‘I am too.’ Elician wraps one arm around Cat’s shoulders. He kisses his hair, then steps away, ignoring the horrified look Leferge is giving him or how Partho is studiously looking in the opposite direction.
They make their final approach to Ines on foot. Elician reaches out with his senses, trying to understand, to feel. He knows immediately that the plague has reached Ines. He can feel the irregularities, can sense the way that some are filled with such unnatural excess that it makes Elician’s heart burn.
Those that are on the street are only those who have so far been unaffected or those who have not yet reached the critical turning point that keeps the ill from even moving. They are lucky. This is still a test Death hopes some will survive long enough to pass.
They enter Ines.
