Page 59 of This Midsummer Heart
I fell for him all over again, despite my every wish not to. I fell for the man he has become, the one I always knew he could be.
I should have told him, and I should have let myself love him. For what is the point of living in anger? Where is the joy in living without summer, without sun, without love and someone to share your days with? Even if it might only last for a little while.
For the first time, I’m glad I loved, bonded and married him before. I am glad I was loved, and made mistakes, and let myself feel.
I carry that gladness into the beyond.
Chapter twenty-seven
Broken
Auberon
“Titaine,staywithme,please,” I beg as I cradle her to my chest, the back of her head cupped in my hand. Already, the golden glow of her soft hair, her skin—all of it is dimming, her light flickering and faltering. Dark blood stains us both, her hair sticking to my hands.
“I’ve brought the first aid kit,” one of the rangers says, but it’s too late. Titaine’s magic should be healing her. I know this, and still I plead for her to open her eyes, to come back to me.
“Sir,” a woman’s voice says—the ranger Titaine spoke with earlier. “I need you to come look at this. I’ll stay with her. I won’t let go of her hand. My colleague can help me put pressure on her wounds.”
The words come to me at a distance, muffled by the buzzing in my ears. Instead of releasing Titaine, I’m the one holding her hand, squeezing it tight and willing her to squeeze back. My vision is blurry as I search for whatever the ranger thinks is so important for me to see.
The body of Titaine’s attacker lies there in a heap, limbs bent at unnatural angles. I recognize her now. She was one of the original four bandits who attacked and robbed me. At first, I don’t know what the ranger means. Then she toes the fallen blade with her boot.
“Fae-killer,” the other ranger whispers, like it is both sacred and disgusts him.
“What do you mean?” I ask, though I can already see something about this blade isn’t right.
It’s cursed.
“It’s a blade that undoes magic. Something old and out of stories,” the female ranger says. “I’ve never heard of one actually resurfacing. But it’s—“
“The one thing that can kill a fae.” I turn back to Titaine, knees grinding into the dirt floor outside Giselda’s stall. The mare’s eyes roll back as she bucks and thrashes at the gate.
I don’t want to take my eyes off Titaine. If I look away, I’m afraid she’ll be gone—truly gone—when I look back. But Giselda is trying to tell me something.
I follow her line of sight, to the side rather than straight ahead, and see her: the other northern bandit woman, frozen against the half door of the stables. Her eyes are wide as she takes in the her comrade’s body—or maybe she means to reclaim that cursed blade.
The rangers have swords in their hands before she can so much as blink. I forget about them, about their pursuit of the final bandit, and pull Titaine into my lap.
I can fix this. I can fix this. There must besomethingI can do.Think,Auberon!
I was such a poor student of magic. While other elves used their supernatural senses to hone their shots and find their targets from unlikely angles, I relied on my athleticism and strength. Elven magic is so weak that I soon surpassed those who relied upon it. Physical ability is what allowed me to thrive.
Now, my body is tired, aching, and as broken as my spirit. Titaine’s eyelids no longer flutter as if dreaming. Her body grows cold in my arms, her magic fighting and losing its battle against the blade’s curse. If only I had listened to those who would’ve taught me magic. Maybe then I’d know what to do.
Curses are a type of chaos magic, fixed into that wicked blade by words burned into the metal, leaving the blade as ugly and misshapen as the magic it holds. My dark magic should be able to do—somethingto right this aberration. If I can unravel the curse, maybe Titaine’s body can heal enough to keep death at bay. Not permanently, but long enough that I can cross into Tethered Malu and seek help from the fae.
“Yes, yes, this is a good plan.” I talk it over beneath my breath, trying to will my panicked mind to focus. But I know nothing of curses. I know nothing of my own awakened magic.
The Blade of Hedril knew what to do, even when you did not.Desperately, I draw the dagger from my hip, shifting Titaine as I do so. Not even the faintest whimper escapes her lips, or any change to her breath. If she is even breathing.
Of course she is. She’s not gone. She couldn’t be. Titaine is still here. Titaine is still here!
Though I try to convince myself, I know: Her life hangs by a thread.
“I call upon your power,” I whisper to the king’s blade, pressing it to my forehead. I fumble for the right words, hoping they exist and that the Blade of Hedril will respond to me as before. “As king, as your master, I bid you to save your people’s queen. Break this curse!”
The magic stirs, smoky and dreamlike as it unfurls from the blade. “Come back to me, Titaine. Come back,” I chant, wishing these were the words of a spell.
