Page 13 of From the Myths of Kings

Rook stared at the words without truly comprehending them. He read them once, twice. He blinked rapidly, half believing the note would evaporate in the heat of the sun. The gentle trickle of water through the gardens drifted away, replaced by the numbing roar of blood in his ears.

If Raven asked him to meet with her, it meant she knew he wasn’t imprisoned or being held hostage. She truly had eyes everywhere. He blew out a breath and brought the feather back down. As it left the illumination of the sun at its back, the words written on the tiding feather melted away as though they’d never been there at all. Fresh trepidation burned like steel in his heart. The rebellion was on the verge of war and Bezhad was bustling with activity. How did Raven expect him to sneak away? Where could they even meet?

“Rook?” came a voice.

Rook crushed the feather into his pocket, pulse fluttering. From between the interlaced curtain of vines, he saw Hasana walking leisurely down the pathway. Rook quickly ducked out from the hidden alcove just as she turned the corner. The Tellusun princess was dressed in her usual garb of flowing gauzy fabrics and gold jewelry that shone like bits of sunlight against her warm brown skin. Her long dark hair was loose around her shoulders, small beads of glass and glittering gold threads braided into a few strands as though she was a mosaic herself. Though she had been radiant in Coarinth during the Tournament season, new life glimmered through Hasana now that she was in the city of her people.

“How are you today?” Hasana asked, coming to stand next to him. “Better or worse?” Her voice was a soothing balm, warm and comforting as though she’d once been a sunbeam that had drifted to earth and taken mortal form.

It was hard to dislike the Tellusun princess, even if she and her rebellion had set off explosives in the heart of Coarinth and stolen the Crown of Revelore from Rook’s family. Even before the Tournament, Rook had thought highly of her. And after Hasana had revived him from death, he was indebted to her. Nevertheless, he still felt wary caution radiating from Hasana every time they spoke, her cordial words disguising mistrust.

“It feels the same,” Rook answered, feeling the phantom blade in his abdomen even without touching it. “Not worse, but not any better.”

“Well, I’m glad it isn’t worse.” She gave him a meaningful glance, her golden-brown eyes full of sympathy that made Rook feel guilty. The feather burned like an ember in his pocket.

“I’m sorry my powers can only minimize the pain. I truly am. I’ve never seen a wound such as yours—one that resists even the most potent medicine and consistent treatment.”

In the week he’d been in Bezhad, Hasana had spent a few hours every day with him, using her abilities as a Healer to stave off the wound while searching for a cure. Hasana had used a combination of common medicinal practices and her inherent magic to read and identify the root cause of his festering wound, her power flowing from her palms like threads of gold. During their healing sessions, she’d lay her hands on his skin and soothe his injury with magic, her touch gentle as a butterfly wing. But though Hasana could mend broken flesh and sew splintered bones back together, she could never quite find the root of Rook’s wound and make him whole again.

“I’m grateful to be alive,” he told her. “I’d rather have a bit of discomfort than be buried in the earth right now.” He was experiencing a great deal more than mere ‘discomfort,’ and Hasana knew it. But she didn’t press the issue, instead pursing her lips together and following him as he turned down the walkway.

“How is your father doing today?” He thought of the bustling Healers who slipped in and out of the king’s rooms in tireless shifts.

“Not much change,” Hasana replied sadly. She twisted a lock of dark hair between her fingers, golden eyes roving over the garden path they meandered down. “He’s been sick for over a year now. I’ve accepted that his time on this earth is coming to an end. As talented as we Healers are, we can’t reverse the effects of time and old age. I may have brought you back from the grave, but even I cannot pull the fingers of time away from my father’s failing heart. I can’t untangle the threads of fate or bring someone back whose time had come.” Though sadness leached into her voice, her words were punctuated with peaceful acceptance.

“I’m sorry,” Rook offered earnestly, thinking of his own parents’ deaths. Had their times truly come, or might they have been saved by a Healer? Why had the fates chosen that singular day for their deaths? It was a question that would never be answered, one that would haunt him until he lay on his own deathbed. A splinter of pain dislodged from his heart, a trickle of blood spilling out for the first time in nearly eight years. He’d never gotten the chance to be at peace with their deaths, had he? He’d just stuffed his pain away with obsessive training and the need to please his older sister.

“Don’t be sorry. He’s had a long and full life. I only want to make his passing as comfortable as possible now. I’ve vowed to continue his legacy and lead our people, and that has significantly eased his soul.”

“What is it like to hold a kingdom on your shoulders at such a young age?” Rook found himself asking. “How does it feel to have such a burden thrust upon you, knowing you’re responsible for so many lives?” He realized he’d always wanted to ask Raven that question. Unlike Hasana, who’d had a year of processing and the counsel of her father at the beginning of his hospice, Raven had become Queen of Aurandel overnight. From the moment his sister had become the ruler of Revelore, she’d forged herself into iron, seldom letting her walls crack in front of him. He’d always wanted to ask her how she felt, but she’d always dismissed his concerns.

Hasana chewed on her lip and considered his question. “It is daunting at times. One wrong move could mean the deaths of countless innocents. One miscalculated political step could result in meaningless bloodshed. I was terrified our plan to steal the Crown would fail and I’d be killed for treason, leaving Tellusun abandoned to punishment and torment. But the love I have for my people has sustained me. If I can see my people free in the end—see Revelore free—it will all be worth it.”

Rook watched her from the corner of his eye, admiration warming his chest. In some ways, Hasana was the antithesis of his sister; she was the queen Raven could have been. Raven held the same devotion to her kingdom as Hasana, but his sister wielded cruelty as a scepter and wore apathy as a crown to maintain control. But could she be blamed? That was what she’d always been taught to do, what Aurans were known for. The tiding feather in Rook’s pocket seemed to sear through his flesh, burning down to his bleeding heart. He had to change the subject. He was inching perilously close to topics he wasn’t ready to broach, pains he wasn’t sure he’d ever be at peace with.

“Any word from—” Rook began, “—from Noora?” he decided to ask.

He watched as Hasana’s eyes brightened. “Actually, yes. That is why I came to find you. They’ve returned from the Shujaa Desert. They just passed through the city gates and are on their way to the palace.”

They. So more than one member of their party had returned, then. Rook felt his stomach drop and his blood thicken. The conflicting emotions rushed upon him once more, rising like a tide that threatened to drown him. He suddenly couldn’t breathe.

Hasana stopped and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Are you all right?” She looked up at him, her dark eyebrows knit in concern. He could see her palms begin to glow with faint light, her magic welling up as if instinctively searching for his pain.

“I—” he stuttered, “I’m fine. Just a little winded after being holed up in my rooms for so long.”

Hasana gave him a skeptical look, the corners of her lips turning down slightly. “She’s safe,” Hasana said gently. “She and Aurelia appear to be unharmed.”

Rook nearly pierced his tongue between his teeth. Hasana didn’t even need to say her name for him to understand who she was. He hadn’t realized he was waiting for confirmation of Saoirse’s safe return. As much as his heart had hardened toward Saoirse, Rook still felt the tug of that thread between them pulling taut as a bow string. Relief and dread mingled at the thought that she was here in the city. He hated how Hasana saw his emotions so clearly. Perhaps she’d probed his mind during their healing sessions, stretching her golden magic beyond the wound in his abdomen to spy on his inner thoughts as well.

“That’s good news,” he replied tersely. He turned from Hasana and tried to collect himself beyond her view, but that now-familiar presence of anxiety crawled up his spine and sank its claws into him. It was more than Saoirse’s return that unsteadied him. It was everything: the dreams, the tiding feather, the torn allegiances, the threat of ancient myths coming to life, the unknown. All of it was rushing at him, eating him alive from the inside out. His hands shook.

“Rook. Listen to me.” Hasana sidled up to face him. “You’re having a panic attack. Just breathe.” She inhaled and exhaled slowly, placing his hand on her chest as she breathed. He slowly followed her lead, expanding his lungs alongside hers, matching his ragged breaths to her steady rhythm.

Hel, he was humiliated by this. But he had to admit he was glad to have lost his composure here in the gardens with Hasana instead of in a roomful of people.

“I know you’re probably feeling quite overwhelmed by everything right now. You have every right to be. I’m sorry you had no choice in coming here. Hardly anything about that day in Coarinth went according to plan, least of all you getting killed by an ancient witch. But this is the reality now. And as overwhelming as it all is, you aren’t alone. If you want to weather this storm, you need to let others help you.”

Rook hung his head low. If only she knew he had tried to let others help him in the past. His trust in others had physically and emotionally wounded him time and time again. He’d trusted Eros and Veila with his life, the two closest friends he had aside from Raven. In the end, he’d hardly recognized them in the arena. They’d both fought against him in the name of their task as though their long histories and friendship meant nothing. And then there was the woman he’d begun to fall in love with. The moment he had opened his heart to Saoirse, it had been promptly crushed by her deception. He couldn’t afford to be vulnerable like that again.

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