Page 61 of The Huntsman's Heart
Instead I close my eyes and mentally pull on the thread tethering her spirit to her body, willing her to return.
The string tenses like someone is pulling on the other end. I try again. She is stronger than I am. I would never have been able to tether so many at once. I cannot break her grip on them. She is so still and cold in my arms. I can’t stand it.
I’m not ready to give up on her. I open my eyes and look down at her. So beautiful. Impossibly so. Because I have no other ideas and because I can’t bear not to, I lower my head and press my lips to hers. If this is goodbye, let me say it the way it should be said.
She doesn’t move while I take the kiss from her. Eventually it starts to feel wrong, as if once again I am taking something she hasn’t freely given.
Then something changes.
Her body thrashes. I pull back, and she cries out. For a moment her eyes flutter, and inside my mind I feel the chords ravel up and coil inside her, forming into a single ball. Her body spasms one last time, and she collapses like the air was knocked out of her all at once.
The gargoyles gasp.
“She did it. She let them go.”
The dark-haired sphynx folds his arms across his chest. “Explain.”
I sigh. I hardly know how to put it into words. “It is a magic we both share. To call to bodies which once housed life. Empty vessels. When I do it, it is as if my spirit leaves my body and inhabits theirs for a time. But she took too many at once.”
“How many?” he asks.
I scrub a hand over my face. “I do not know. Many.”
He sighs. “And overtaxed herself? That sounds like our princess.”
I hate that term—their princess—but undoubtedly she is. “I think she may recover,” I say.
“How will we know?” The fair-haired sphynx asks.
“We wait. For now, let her rest.”
“Let us take her up to the solar.” The angel-like gargoyle straightens.
It’s then I look up and notice the shape of the building has changed. It’s no longer the complete ruin it was when they first brought me here. One solitary tower rises from the ruins, new and smooth, free from vines and lichen. At the top of the tower is a stained-glass arched window. It seems they have been busy while the princess and I were away.
Before one of them can do it, I bend and lift her again. Her slim frame seems somehow more solid in my arms now, as if her spirit has a weight to it and now that it’s knit back together, it gives her substance.
Probably just my errant imagination.
I carry her to the tower and up the winding staircase, marveling at how the gargoyles crafted this building in a few nights. It is sturdy, beautifully made. Only a few of the stone slabs show any signs of the wear they have suffered over the century.
When we reach the tower room, I have to duck my head under the doorway. When I straighten, I look with appreciation at the room they have fashioned. It is fit for a queen. The glass from the window stains everything a soft purple hue, an effect which will be amplified during the sunlight hours. Beautiful fabrics cover all the soft surfaces—the bed, the gilded canopy, the lush cushions that cover the floor. A large tapestry showing a woman holding out her hand for a pure white unicorn hangs on the wall, and there are boxes and chests piled high in the corner.
The latch on the window opens, and the angel-like gargoyle folds his wings and steps inside, followed by the twin sphynxes. “What do you think?”
I cannot hide my awe, though I’m jealous of this beautiful gift they have to give when I have nothing. “It is no less than what she deserves.”
He looks pleased. “I hope she will think so. Lay her down here.”
I move to the bed and reluctantly relinquish her. She hardly stirs as I set her on the soft mattress, but her lips curve into a smile, and that’s enough.
It will be well. It has to.
I refuse to contemplate a future shaped differently.
I should not be thinking of a future at all. I turned her to end mine. But these last few days, I cannot deny that hope has crept unbidden into the hole in my chest where my heart should be.
As much as I’ve tried to chase it away, it has clung on with sharp claws like a stray cat who has found a dry spot in a thunderstorm.
