Page 14 of From the Myths of Kings

“Why are you being so kind to me?” he whispered, staring at the ivory tiles set into the clay path below his feet. “My kingdom has done nothing but oppress yours. I’ve given you no reason to have mercy on me.”

Hasana stared at him for a long, heavy moment. “Do you remember the day before the Tournament, when you showed me the Crown of Revelore in your family’s library?”

He nodded. How could he forget that moment? That foolish decision had ensured Hasana and her rebels knew exactly where the Crown was housed. Raven had been so furious with him for allowing ‘the enemy’ to glimpse Aurandel’s most prized possession. It turned out Raven’s paranoia had been warranted because a few short days later, the Citadel had been reduced to rubble and ash, and the Crown stolen right out from under their noses.

Hasana continued, “I saw something in you that day, Rook. I could sense you were different from those who’d come before you. You looked at me like I was an actual person, not just a soulless rival to the throne. I’m sure you still harbored resentments and prejudices in your heart. But I could tell you had not been so hardened by hatred that you could not learn to change, to grow. I told you once I almost left you in that arena to die,” she said wistfully, something like regret edged in her voice. “I’m not proud of that moment. But Saoirse convinced me to take you with us to Bezhad. Because she believed in your goodness. Unlike me, Saoirse did more than merely identify your willingness to change. She risked her reputation among the rebellion to vouch for you. She risked her own life to save yours that day. That is how confident she was in your character. Saoirse is the ultimate reason I’ve given you the benefit of the doubt.” She paused, looking up to the cloudless sky as if for guidance. “But even if you hadn’t proved your character, I’d still grant you mercy. Being merciless is what allowed our ancestors to become tyrants.”

Rook felt the tiding feather grow heavy in his pocket, as if saturated with liquid guilt. He wanted to tell Hasana that Raven had sent for him. It would prove his trustworthiness and validate her belief that people could change—that he could change. But Rook couldn’t bring himself to speak no matter how hard he tried, the confession locked in his throat.

“We should return to the palace,” Rook decided to say. “They’re probably arriving now.”

Hasana gave him one last lingering look, her lips parting as if she wanted to say more. But she merely nodded and turned back toward the palace, her colorful gown swirling over the terracotta pathway like unfurling petals of a blooming flower.

“You do not have to greet them if you’re not ready,” she said over her shoulder. Her dark hair blew gently in the slight breeze. “But we will meet with the war council this evening and I expect you to be there. Do not be late.” In that moment, Rook was reminded that while Hasana was gentle and soft-spoken, she was also a sharpened leader unafraid to issue orders.

“I’ll be there,” Rook called after her. He had so many decisions to make now. Would he greet Saoirse, Aurelia, and Noora in the palace’s receiving courtyard with the rest of the Tellusun court and Hasana’s rebels? Would he honor Raven’s request and secretly meet with her? Rook balled his fists together, feeling the bite of his nails in his palms.

In the end, he was a coward. He didn’t go to meet Saoirse in the grand courtyard. Instead, he caught an incoming southern wind with his wings and untethered himself from the earth, soaring high above the sprawling palace and its hanging gardens below, surrendering himself to the sky and all the opposing voices in his head.

6

SAOIRSE

The moment Saoirse passed through the threshold of her chamber and collapsed onto the bed, she called for the deep tub in the corner of the room to be filled with saltwater. She stared absently at the gauzy white curtains that draped from the four-poster bed, utterly exhausted after their week-long expedition into the Shujaa Desert.

When the servants finished filling the tub and departed, Saoirse peeled off her sweaty, sand-roughened clothes and tossed them on the floor in a heap. Fortunately, they’d packed clean clothing to change into once they returned to their campsite beyond the Soundless Oasis, so she hadn’t needed to travel all the way back to Bezhad in blood-soaked garments. But even with fresh clothing, the four-day trek back to the Clay City had left her desert robes stiff with sweat and her skin smarting from the rough sand that irritated her dry scales.

She crossed the room to the ivory tub, staring at her rippling reflection in the water. A brackish smell wafted up from the tub and Saoirse hungrily filled her lungs with the familiar scent of it. The smell of the saltwater didn’t fully encapsulate the bite of briny seawater, but it was close enough to the scent of the Maeral Sea that Saoirse wanted to cry. Her bleary reflection blinked up at her. Although she had done her best to keep her face covered, Saoirse’s cheeks were flushed with color and blistered from the desert wind. With a hollowness in her cheeks and bruise-like splotches under her pale blue eyes, she looked just as exhausted as she felt. But a light that hadn’t been there before they’d left Bezhad shined in her gaze. Hope, tentative though it was, had begun to root itself in her heart.

Saoirse stepped into the tub with a hiss. She lowered herself carefully, bones and sinew groaning with fatigue as she sank deeper into the saltwater. Her parched scales absorbed the water as she inched under the surface, the grime and stale sweat that coated her skin dissolving into mere memories. Saoirse leaned her head back against the smooth rim of the tub and felt the snarls of hair at the nape of her neck begin to ease apart. Her feet were aching and stiff. The knots of scar tissue that splintered up her ankles and calves were still tender, made more so by the tight desert boots she’d worn for days on end. She wistfully touched the torn webbing between her toes, eaten away by Avgi spider acid in the Tournament. She half-expected the burned flesh and membranous scales to be magically repaired after drinking the enchanted waters of the oasis.

The tub sat drenched in sunlight under an open window, the soft afternoon haze drifting in through diaphanous curtains rustling in the gentle breeze. Outside, palm trees swayed in the wind. The distant smell of warm spices from the city markets and sweet florals from the hanging gardens suffused the air. Saoirse stared at the ceiling and watched as the shadows from the palm trees oscillated along the terracotta roof. As she sat quietly in the tub, she tried to memorize the peaceful moment and mute the cacophony of thoughts in her head. This was likely the last time the world would feel still around her, and she wanted to soak it all in. She sensed that this fleeting moment of sunlight and warmth would have to sustain her through the darkness about to unfold.

She sank deeper into the water and let it wash over her head, running watery fingers through her tangled curls. She took a deep breath and filled her aching lungs with the briny water. Fully ensconced and finally at a place where she could process everything in peace, Saoirse looked back on the events of the afternoon.

When they’d returned to the palace an hour ago, they’d been greeted by a flurry of activity in the grand courtyard. Flowering lemon and orange trees lined the perimeter of the sandstone courtyard, the citrus blooms mingling with snowy white jasmine blossoms that crept along the latticed walls. Colorful geometric stonework adorned the floor in symmetrical patterns, tiled with rich greens and blues that mimicked the flow of the streams running through the hanging gardens. But the splendid courtyard was filled with more than just flowers and mosaics. With war upon them, members of Hasana’s resistance had made camp in the breezy courtyard. Rows of tents were crammed into every open space and soldiers milled about, sharpening weapons and cobbling mismatched pieces of armor together in anticipation of the coming war. Other volunteers ferried crates of food and other necessities beyond the palace walls, heading toward the harbor that skirted Bezhad and the merchant ship that would bear them to Terradrin. A bright sense of purpose that had long been missing from the people of Revelore hung in the air. It moved Saoirse to see people from all parts of the continent working in tandem, the hostilities of the last century abandoned in the blaze of rebellion. There were still too few soldiers compared to the combined imperial armies of Aurandel and Terradrin, of course, but what they lacked in numbers, they made up for in determination.

Hasana had been waiting for them at the front gate of the courtyard, a wide grin on her face. The Tellusun princess had been surprised to see Tezrus with them, his hood drawn so low over his head only his colorless eyes glinted in the light. But she’d welcomed the weary old man with a warm smile and ordered a private chamber to be prepared for him. After he left, Hasana had turned to the three of them, her golden brown eyes landing on Noora first. She had pulled the archer into a tight embrace as if she hadn’t quite believed she would return safely. Hasana was always the very picture of a composed leader, with her chin held high and her words confident, but under her veil of cool pragmatism, Saoirse could see the desperate relief that allowed Hasana’s rigid shoulders to fall as Noora hugged her back.

Saoirse turned away from the embracing pair and scanned the courtyard, searching for a pair of pale gray wings and sapphire blue eyes amongst the crowd. She kept her gaze flat and her arms laced together nonchalantly. Her racing heart betrayed the casual stance, but if Rook was present in the courtyard, she didn’t want to seem too desperate for a glimpse of him.

On the return journey, Saoirse’s mind had been occupied with the logistics of their daunting mission. But in brief moments, a part of her had wondered what their reunion might be like. Would Rook appear before her in the courtyard, that dimpled grin she’d come to daydream about splayed wide on his lips? Or would he watch her from the outskirts with cold indifference, his eyes dull and his handsome face split with a frown? In the end, neither of those scenarios came to fruition. Something like disappointment and relief mingled in Saoirse’s heart when she couldn’t find Rook in the crowd. Would she have rather faced his detachment or even hatred over his ambiguous absence? She didn’t know. Either way, it was clear he hadn’t forgiven her yet.

Saoirse quickly moved on from the strange amalgamation of emotions when she saw Sune striding over to them. The male Mer warrior was dressed in his silver Torqen armor, a swath of a turquoise fabric peeking out between the armor plates. His dark brown hair glinted in the sun and his golden skin was more tanned than it had been a week ago.

“Princess Saoirse,” he said once he’d reached them, bowing slightly in her direction. He turned to Aurelia and gave a brisk nod. “Captain Eleni.” Ever the straight-laced soldier, Sune still maintained his austere countenance and rigid posture despite everything that had happened over the last few weeks.

Aurelia rolled her eyes, but her lips were slightly upturned. Even after Saoirse had discovered the two rival captains had been lovers for titans-knew-how-long, Sune still insisted on maintaining the neutral professionalism that had always infuriated Aurelia and sharpened his keen reputation as an uptight, no-nonsense leader amongst the Torqen. But while Sune’s stringent ethics had been a thorn in Saoirse’s side in the past, he had become a valued friend. Where she once saw arrogance, she now saw his unwavering, often inflexible, scruples as a sign of his loyalty to those he loved.

“You look… improved,” Aurelia observed, cocking an eyebrow as she surveyed him. Behind her façade of wry humor, Saoirse recognized the glimmer of relief in Aurelia’s eyes. Before they’d left, Sune had still been healing from his wounds from the first trial. He’d initially pleaded to join them on their expedition to the Soundless Oasis, but Aurelia had deemed it too risky. She also argued that his presence was needed in Bezhad as he would be a familiar face for new Mer recruits amid so much upheaval. He walked up to them without any sign of pain, and healthy color had returned to his skin.

“Indeed,” Sune said curtly. “Hasana and her Healers have been most generous.” He paused, a muscle ticking in his hard jaw. After a beat, he said, “I’m glad you’ve both returned safely. I was worried.” It was probably the most emotion he would ever reveal in front of Saoirse, and she gave him a true smile.

“Me too,” she replied. “For a moment there, I wasn’t sure we would make it back.”

“I presume the mission was successful?” Sune dragged his gaze away from Saoirse and Aurelia to watch as Tezrus was escorted across the courtyard and into the palace, a swarm of curious onlookers following in his wake. “That is the scholar?”

“It went better than we could’ve hoped for,” Aurelia confirmed with a nod in Tezrus’s direction. “He’s going to come with us to help find Terradrin’s Relic. It feels like we’ve finally gained a much-needed foothold against Selussa.”

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