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Dawn was coming. It burned on the horizon, casting long shadows across the battlefield. Save for the fluttering of torn banners and the caws of circling carrion birds, everything was quiet. Peace at last—but not for us.
Her cold blade rested against my neck, her boot upon my sunken knee, every inch of her silhouetted by the blazing dawn. Even battle-worn, she smelled like fresh-picked lavender.
I had never been so close to her, even when our battles had been waged across oak tables rather than fallow fields. That had been years ago. I had always wanted to know her as I did now.
"You fought well, little lord," she said, her voice softer than I had ever heard it. I wondered if I was imagining the tears in her eyes. "You surprised me. I had thought you so weak."
I was weak. Had I half her strength, I would have stopped this crusade of destruction before it ever began. I would have defied my King and begged her to defy her Queen. My brothers in arms would be safe and warm with their families, not growing cold in the muck—as I soon would be.
She sensed my worries. She had always been so perceptive. "I can make it quick. You need not suffer as they have."
"Do as you wish," I answered, quickly, "as is your right."
"Very well." She readied the sword. I felt the first sting of steel splitting the delicate skin of my throat. Tears welled in my eyes, but I was determined to face death with the strength I had not had in life. "In the name of the Queen of the Winemarsh, I condemn you to death. Offer your final words to the gods above and below."
I looked to the honey-soaked sky, and I found no comfort in it. I looked to her, and I found everything I had wanted—all this time.
"Burn me, when I am gone," I said. "Cast lavender into the flames so I will know you in death."
She hesitated, but for a moment. I knew, then, that I had not imagined the tears in her eyes. They fell hard and fast, coursing through the blood and filth on her cheeks.
"We should have killed them all," she whispered. "We could have crossed the sea together."
I raised my chin and looked at her, even as the blade seared against my flesh. I had never known a love like this.
She pressed her sweet lips to my forehead, then drew her arm, steel flashing amber.
I saw the blade swing, and then I saw nothing at all.
—
Hours later, a pyre burned on the border between the Winemarsh and the Oak Kingdom. Those who caught the distant scent of its smoke swore it could not have come from a pyre at all.
For if it had, why would it smell like lavender?