Page 62 of The King's Queen

“How?” She is standing now, her fists shaking silently at her side. A part of my conscious pulls, saying I shouldn’t be here to witness this. That this is between the pureblood and the captain, and yet, one look at her pale and gaunt face has my heels firmly planted on the cold stone floor.

“You know…” His voice barely goes above a whisper. “You know I don’t remember any of it.”

“Well, I do.” Her own voice matches his, grief and pain strung on every chord of her sweet tone. “You needed a miracle. You needed magic: blood.Pure blood.”

I have seen men pray to gods they don’t believe in when faced with death and women defending their broken lovers from an army with nothing but their own fists. I’ve seen children begging on street corners while others pick pockets in feeble attempts to live for one more godforsaken day. I have been that child. I have been the murderer and the lover. I have been death and the judgement, but I have never seen a man shatter quite like Blaine does.

His legs begin to wobble, healthy and injured alike. His grey eyes suddenly seem pale, the color of a cloudy sky rather than forged iron. Vera’s own eyes stare at her feet, guilt wracking her delicate features. The firm lines of her mouth pull together, and she blinks rapidly. No more tears fall.

The moment feels holy as we bask in the horror of this revelation. My heart races in anticipation of the words that I know will come next.

“Cut me.”

No.

“I need you to do it.”

No.

“I trust you.”

I take ahold of her hand and flip her palm to face skywards, then hiss at the sight of the long scar running the length of it. Tanja grips the side of the bed.

Vera stares sorrowfully at the scar. Enraptured by it, even. “I did it. I cut myself, I wouldn’t let anyone else do it. I watched as the healer spread it over your leg, over the bones jutting through your already rotting flesh.”

She pauses a moment to gather herself.

“I watched him tip it between your lips. And then I watched as the soldiers cut him in two, just below the waist.” Her voice breaks. “Just enough left of him for an open casket.”

Somewhere in the distance, a church bell chimes. It chimes seven times. Vera raises her hand, as if to cross two fingers across her chest but stops. Whether deliberately or because she lacks the strength, I don’t know.

“I-“

“Do you want to know what’s worse? I watched you open your eyes, I watched you wonder why there was so much blood, and I had to lie and say it was your own. Then I watched you take your first steps a few weeks later, and you had a limp. A month later, and the limp persisted.” She cuts him off, swaying. We both make to grab for her, but she rights herself without our assistance and steadies her furious gaze on Blaine once more.

“And do you know what I thought? I thought ‘where can I find another healer? Maybe it wasn’t enough.’ And maybe if I had let you run me dry, you’d be fine, and I didn’t care if they’d kill the next healer, and the next after that, and then the next. It took meeting with five healers, in secret, learning each time that even a miracle wouldn’t ever let you walk without pain. I realized I wasn’t enough. Seeing you in pain every day reminds me that no matter how much I sully my hands, I can’t save you.”

Blaine has the decency to look shocked, confused, sorrowful, and maybe even a tinge of fear resides in his heart. An awe of respect coats his mannerisms as well as he studies Vera. He looks as if he sees her for the first time.

“I didn’t know.” Is the poetry that stumbles from between his lips, a sorry excuse or plea to innocence at best. Vera looks like she can’t decide whether to laugh or cry, so she just presses her lips together.

“Just because I didn’t do it with my own hands that time doesn’t mean I didn’t know what it meant to kill. I made the choice to saveyou, knowing it would killhim. The only difference this time is that I held the knife. I felt him die.”

Outside the window, thunder rumbles lowly, as if the earth, too, is mourning the new bodies to be buried under her skin. The flame in the oil lamp flickers, and Tanja stands to make sure the window is securely locked shut. The sounds of laughter floats through the hallway outside the closed door until it fades, leaving only silence.

“I wear both his blood and the healer’s. The innocent and the guilty.” As if a switch is flipped, Vera’s eyes darken, and her voice lowers to a growl. “Guess which one I killed for you versus him?”

Drip.

Torin turns to the window to search for any signs of rain, but Tanja’s eyes go right to Vera’s hands. I trace her gaze to see blood pooling beneath her fingertips as she drives her fingernails into her shaking fists.

“Hey, hey.” I gently take her hand and open her fingers. The blood drips onto my own, leaving a stream of gold across my heart line. “Ver. Vera, stop.”

Another clap of thunder rocks the castle, and Vera blinks. Her eyes clear and widen, and she’s quick to try and brush off the blood on her dress. Tanja catches her hand and wraps it in cloth before she has the chance.

“Fingers and hands always bleed so much,” the maid says soothingly. “Let’s take care of it, okay?”

In a daze, Vera nods and follows her friend back to bed. The blonde knight pulls back the covers of her bed for her to lay in, then hands her a cup of water. Ripples form in the glass as soon as it passes from his hands to hers. Blaine stays rooted where he stands.

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