Page 151 of Born for Silk

“Odio.” I hear his guttural word, twisted with longing and grief, the sound wrapping around my throat, choking the tears from me.

They rush down my cheeks.

Distraught, I watch as Kong carries the great deity toward Rome, setting the lifeless bouquet of silvery feathers beside him on the red dirt.

They lay side by side.

The king and his eagle.

On his back, while a doctor removes his bloodied leather armour, Rome reaches out his hand, but it looks hard, as though his bones strain under the weight of his muscles.

A rough sigh leaves his mouth as he touches Odio’s crest and begins to stroke the feathers, soothe his friend and shadow who isn’t moving at all.

“Good boy. I never thanked you.”

As I slowly approach him, tears stream down my cheeks, twin tracks that drip over my trembling upper lip.

“Aster.”

“I’m so sorry.” I begin, the words crumbling through my lips. “It was my idea to visit the windmills. If I had?—”

“Shh.”

While the Trade doctor works on Rome’s bullet wounds, digging in, removing, stitching, and sealing, I drop to my knees at his other side. My mauve dress fans out across the red sand.

Beside Odio.

Odio, who is upside-down.

Talons curled in tight, frozen.

His usually piercing eyes are lost in the presence of death, a depthless nothing that I wish to never see again. Tears blur the world. “He is upside-down, Rome.” I bawl. Upside down.

“Come closer,” he orders, “touch me.”

Stay strong.

With a trembling hand, I reach out and touch Rome’s face. His cheek is cold, so I press my palm to warm the cool surface.

“I never stroked him,” he says to me. “But you did. You make everything, everyone, happier.”

Pain fills my throat. “H-he lov-loved you, Rome,” I squeak. “He was such a loyal boy.”

Rome lifts his hand to cup my cheek, his thumb tracing my wet lips, and I lean into his clammy touch. “Don’t cry, sweet Aster.”

“Rome.”

“Aster.” He almost smiles, but it is too peaceful, too lethargic. I hate it. “Aster. My Aster. Fuck me, you’re pretty.”

“Stop. You’re going to be fine. A few bullets cannot kill Rome of The Strait.”

He inhales hard.

My wide eyes slide over him, to the blood on his throat and splashed across his chest, to the dark pool creeping out from under him, conquering the red dirt?—

Shaking my head, my eyes refuse to accept the vision. My giant king. My beast. My Rome.

“Did I make amends?” Blue eyes stare through me. “Do you forgive me, little creature?”

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